:^r*::V^h-t: 


lifHli-f! 


For  ive  are  not  children  of  the  bond-woman ,  but  oj 
the  free, 

E  pur  se  muove. 


OUTLINES 

0' 


CRITICAL  THEORY  OF  ETHICS 


BY 

JOHN   DEWEY 

Professor  of  Philosophy  in  the  University  of  Michigari 


'<^^i 


ANN  ARBOR,  MICHIGAN 

REGISTER    PUBLISHING    COMPANY 

Ube  1InIan^  press 


Copyright,  1891.    Register  PubliIShing  Co..  Ann  Arbor,  Mich. 


CONTENTS. 


Introduction  1-12 

PART    I.— FUNDAMENTAL    ETHICAL    NO- 
TIONS. 


ChaptePw  I.—The  Good 

13-138 

Hedonism 

14 

Utilitarianism 

52 

Evolutionary  Utilitarianism 

67 

Kantianism 

78 

Problem  and  Solution 

95 

Realization  of  Individuality 

97 

Ethical  Postulate 

127 

Chapter  11.— The  Idea  of  Obligation 

139-158 

Bain's  Theory 

140 

Spencer's  Theory 

142 

Kant's  Theory 

147 

Its  Real  Nature 

152 

Chapter  111.— The  Idea  of  Freedom 

158-166 

Negative  Freedom 

158 

Potential  Freedom 

159 

Positive  Freedom 

164 

PART  IL  — THE  ETHICAL 

WORLD. 

Social  Relations 

167 

Moral  Institutions 

169 

yi 

PAKT  III.— THE  MORAL  LIFE  OF  THE 
INDIVIDUAL. 

Division  of  Subject  181 

Chapter  l.  —  The  Formation  and  Growth  of 

Ideals  182-211 
'  Conscience  182 
Conscientiousness  199 
Development  of  Ideals  206 
Chapter  11.— The  Moral  Struggle  or  the  Real- 
izing of  Ideals  211-227 
Goodness  as  Struggle  211 
Badness  214 
Goodness  and  Badness  221 
Chapter  111— Realized  Morality  or  the  Vir- 
tues 227-233 
Cardinal  Virtues  231 
Conclusion  233-238 


PREFACE. 


Although  the  following  pages  have  taken  shape 
in  connection  with  class-room  work,  they  are  in- 
tended as  an  independent  contribution  to  ethical 
science.  It  is  commonly  demanded  of  such  a  work 
that  its  readers  shall  have  some  prefatory  hint  of 
its  sources  and  deviations.  In  accordance  with 
this  custom,  I  may  state  that  for  the  backbone  of 
the  theory  here  presented — the  conception  of  the 
will  as  the  expression  of  ideas,  and  of  social  ideas; 
the  notion  of  an  objective  ethical  world  realized  in 
institutions  which  afford  moral  ideals,  theatre  and 
impetus  to  the  individual;  the  notion  of  the  moral 
life  as  growth  in  freedom,  as  the  individual  finds 
and  conforms  to  the  law  of  his  social  placing — for 
this  backbone  I  am  especially  indebted  to  Green's 
'  Prolegomena  to  Ethics ',  to  Mi\  Bradley's  '  Ethical 
Studies ',  to  Professor  Caird's  '  Social  Philosophy  of 
Comte '  and  '  Critical  Philosophy  of  Kant '  (to  this 
latter  book  in  particular  my  indebtedness  is  funda- 
mental), and  to  Alexander's  '  Moral  Order  and  Pro- 
gress '.  Although  I  have  not  been  able  to  adopt 
the  stand- point  or  the  method  of  Mr.  Spencer,  or  of 
Mr.  Leslie  Stephen  my  obligation  to  the  '  Data  of 
Ethics '  and  to  the  '  Science  of  Ethics '  (especially 
to  the  latter)  is  large. 

As  to  the  specific  forms  which  give  a  flesh  and 
blood  of  its  own  to  this  backbone,  I  may  call  atten- 


Vlll 


tionto  the  idea  of  desire  as  the  ideal  activity  in  con- 
trast with  actual  possession;  to  the  analysis  of  indi- 
viduality into  function  including  capacity  and  envi- 
ronment ;  to  the  treatment  of  the  social  bearings  of 
science  and  art  (a  point  concerning  which  I  am 
indebted  to  my  friend,  Mr.  Franklin  Ford) ;  to  the 
statement  of  an  ethical  postulate;  to  the  accounts 
of  obligation,  of  moral  rules,  and  of  moral  badness. 

While  the  book  is  an  analysis,  in  outline,  of  the 
main  elements  of  the  theory  of  ethics  rather  than 
a  discussion  of  all  possible  detailed  questions,  it 
will  not  be  found  the  less  fitted,  I  hope,  to  give  a 
student  an  idea  of  the  main  methods  and  problems 
of  contemporary  ethics.  Other  teachers,  indeed, 
may  agree  that  a  general  outline  is  better  than  a 
blanket- mortgage  spread  over  and  forestalling  all 
the  activity  of  the  student's  mind. 

I  have  not  been  unmindful  of  the  advisability 
of  avoiding  in  presentation  both  undue  polemic, 
and  undue  dogmatism  without  sufficient  reference 
to  the  statements  of  others.  I  hope  the  method 
hit  upon,  of  comparing  opposite  one-sided  views 
with  the  aim  of  discovering  a  theory  apparently 
more  adequate,  will  help  keep  the  balance.  I  have 
quoted  freely  from  the  chief  modern  authorities, 
hoping  that  the  tastes  here  given  will  tempt  the 
reader  to  the  banquet  waiting  in  the  authors 
themselves.  The  occasional  references  introduced 
are  not  bibliographical,  nor  intended  as  exhaustive 
statements  of  authorities  consulted;  they  are  meant 
as  aids  to  an  intelligent  reading  on  the  part  of  the 
general  student.  For  this  reason  they  are  confined 
mainly  to  modern  English  writings. 


INTRODUCTION. 


I. 

Definition       The  term  ethics  is  derived  from  a 
of  Greek   word   meaning   manners,  cus- 

Ethlcs.  toms,  habits,  just  as  the  term  morals 
is  derived  from  a  Latin  word  with  a  similar  mean- 
ing. This  suggests  the  character  of  the  science  as 
an  account  of  human  action.  Anthropology,  eth- 
nology, psychology,  are  also,  in  their  way,  accounts 
of  human  action.  But  these  latter  branches  of 
knowledge  simply  describe,  while  the  business  of/ 
ethics  is  to  judge. 

I  This  does  not  mean  that  it  belongs  to  ethics  to 
prescribe  what  man  ought  to  do;  but  that  its  busi- 
ness is  to  detect  the  element  of  obligation  in  cop.- 
duct,  to  examine  conduct  to  see  what  gives  it  its 
worthy.  Anthropology,  etc.,  do  not  take  into  account 
the  whole  of  action,  but  simply  some  of  its 
aspects — either  external  or  internal.  Ethics  deals 
with  conduct  in  its  entirety,  with  reference,  that  is, 
to  what  makes  it  conduct,  its  end,  its  real  meaning. 
Ethics  is  the  science  of  conduct,  understanding  by 
conduct  man's  activity  in  its  whole  reach. 

Three  of  the  branches  of  philosophy  may  be  called 
normative,  implying  that  they  deal  with  some  norm. 


standard  or  end,  estimating  the  value  of  their  respect- 
ive subject-matters  as  tested  by  this  end.  These  are 
Logic,  dealing  with  the  end  Truth,  and  the  value  of 
intellectual  processes  with  respect  to  it;  Esthetics, 
dealing  with  Beaut.y  and  the  value  of  emotional  con- 
ditions as  referred  to  it;  and  Ethics,  as  defined  above. 
But  this  norm  in  no  case  comes  from  outside  the  sub- 
ject-matter; it  is  the  subject-matter  considered  in  its 
totality. 

II. 

Meaning       In  its  widest  sense,  the  term  moral  or 

of  ethical  means  nothing  more  than  relating 

Moral,     to  conduct;  having  to  do  with  practice, 

when    we  look  at  conduct  or   practice   from   the 

point  of  view  not  of  its  occurrence,  but  of  its  value. 

Action  is  something  which  takes  place,  and  as  such 

it  may  be  described  like  any  objective  fact.     But 

action  has  also  relation  to  an  end,  and  so  considered 

it  is  moral.     The  first  step  in  ethics  is  to  fix  firmly 

in  mind  the  idea  that  the  term  moral  does  not  mean 

any  special  or  peculiar  kind  of  conduct,  but  simply 

means   practice    and   action,   conduct   viewed   not 

partially,   but  in  connection  with  the  end  which  it 

realizes. 

It  should  be  noted  that  the  term  moral  has  a  wider 
and  a  narrower  sense.  In  the  wider  sense  it  means 
action  in  the  moral  sphere,  as  opposed  to  non-moY^\ 
and  thus  includes  both  good  and  bad  conduct.  In  the 
narrower  sense  it  means  moral,  as  opposed  to  im- 
moral. See  Bradley,  Ethical  Studies,  p.  53,  note,  for  a 
further  meaning. 


III. 

Meaning      Ethics  then  has  to  do  with  conduct  or 
of  action  viewed  completely,  or  in  relation 

Conduct.  tp_Jts  end.  But  what  is  conduct?  It 
must  be  distinguished  from  action  in  general;  for 
any  process  of  change,  the  working  of  a  pump,  the 
growth  of  a  plant,  the  barking  of  a  dog,  may  be 
called  action.  Conduct  implies  more  than  some- 
thing taking  place;  it  implies  purpose,  motive, 
intention;  that  the  agent  knows  what  he  is  about, 
that  he  has  something  which  he  is  aiming  at.  All 
action  accomplishes  something  or  brings  about 
results,  but  conduct  has  the  result  in  vieiv.  It 
occurs  for  the  sake  of  producing  this  result.  Con- 
duct does  not  simply,  like  action  in  general,  have  a 
cause,  but  also  a  reason,  and  the  reason  is  present 
to  the  mind  of  the  agent.  There  can  be  conduct 
only  when  there  is  a  being  who  can  propose  to  him- 
self, as  an  end  to  be  reached  by  himself,  something 
which  he  regards  as  worth  while.  Such  a  being  is 
a  moral  agent,  and  his  action,  when  conscious,  is 
conduct. 

IV. 

D  vision  The  main  ethical  problem  is  just  this: 
of        What  is  the  conduct  that  really  deserves 

Ethics,  the  name  of  conduct,  the  conduct  of 
which  all  other  kinds  of  action  can  be  only  a  per- 
verted or  deflected  form  ?  I    Or,  since  it  is  the  end 


I 


which  gives  action  its  moral  value,  what  is  the  true 
end,  summum  honum  of  man  ?]  Knowing  this,  we 
have  a  standard  by  which  we  judge  particular 
•acts.)  Those  which  embody  this  end  are  right, 
others  wrong.  The  question  of  the  Tightness  of 
•conduct  is  simply  a  special  form  of  the ,  question 
concerning  the  nature  of  the  end  or  good. )  IBut  the 
end  bears  another  relation  to  specific  acts.  They 
are  not  only  marked  ofP  by  it  as  right  or  wrong,  but 
they  have  to  fulfill  it.  The  end  or  good  decides 
what  should  be  or  02ight  to  be.  Any  act  necessary 
to  fulfill  the  end  is  a  duty.  Our  second  inquiry 
will  be  as  to  the  nature  of  obligation  or  duty. 
Then  we  have  to  discuss  the  nature  of  a  being  who 
is  capable  of  action,  of  manifesting  and  realizing  the 
end ;  capable  of  right  (or  wrong )  of  obligatory  and 
good  action,  pi^his  will  leacj  us  to  discuss  the  question 
of  Freedom,  or  Moral  Capacity  and  its  Realization. 
The  discussion  of  these  three  abstract  questions 
will  constitute  Part  I  of  our  theory  ;  Part  II 
will  take  up  the  various  forms  and  institutions 
in  which  the  good  is  objectively  realized,  the  fam- 
ily, state,  etc. ;  while  Part  III  will  be  devoted  to  an 
account  of  the  moral  experience  of  the  individual. 

V. 
The  Motive       Before  taking  up  the  first  problem 
in  presented,  the  nature  of  the  good  or 

Conduct,     the  end  of  conduct,  it  is  necessary  to 


analyze  somewhat  further  the  various  sides  and 
factors  of  conduct  in  order  to  see  where  the  dis- 
tinctly ethical  element  is  to  be  found.  The  ele- 
ments particularly  deserving  consideration  are  (1)  / 
the  Motive;  (2)  the  Feelings  or  Sentiments;  (3) 
Consequences  of  the  Act;  (4)  Character  of  Agent. 
We  shall  begin  with 

1.  The  Motive.  The  motive  of  the  act  is  the 
end  aimed  at  by  the  agent  in  performing  the  act. 
Thus  the  motive  of  Julius  Csesar  in  crossing  the 
Rubicon  was  the  whole  series  of  results  which  he 
intended  to  reach  by  that  act  of  his.  The  motive 
of  a  person  in  coming  to  college  is  to  gain  knowl- 
edge, to  prepare  himself  for  a  certain  profession. 
The  motive  is  thus  identical  with  the  ideal  element 
of  the  action,  the  purpose  in  view. 

2.  The  Feelings  or  Disposition.  Some  writers 
speak  of  the  feelings  under  which  the  agent  acts 
as  his  motive.  Thus  we  may  suppose  Julius  Caesar 
'  moved '  by  the  feelings  of  ambition,  of  revenge, 
etc.,  in  crossing  the  Rubicon.  The  student  may  be 
'  moved '  by  curiosity,  by  vainglory,  by  emulation, 
by  conscience,  in  coming  to  college.  It  is  better, 
however,  to  regard  the  motive  as  the  reason  for 
which  the  act  is  performed,  and  to  use  the  term 
moving  or  impelling  cause  for  the  feelings  in  their 
relation  to  action.  Thus  we  may  imagine  a  parent 
asking  a  child  why  he   struck  a  playmate,  meaning 


6 


what  was  the  motive  of  the  action.  If  the  child 
should  reply  that  he  struck  his  playmate  because 
he  was  angry,  this  answer  would  give  the  moving 
cause  or  impelling  force  of  the  action,  but  not  its 
motive.  The  motive  would  be  the  idea  of  punish- 
ing this  playmate,  of  getting  even  with  him,  of 
taking  something  away  from  him.  The  motive  is 
the  end  which  he  desired  to  reach  by  striking  and 
on  account  of  which  he  struck.  This  is  implied  by 
the  fact  that  the  parent  would  ask,  "  What  made  you 
angry  f^^ 

VI. 

Moral   Bearing       It  is  the  feelings  which  supply 

of  These         the    impelling   force    to    action. 

Distinctions.     They  may  be  termed,  collectively, 

the  natural  disposition.     The  natural  disposition 

in  itself  has  no  moral  value.     This  has  been  well 

illustrated  by  Bentham. 

Principles  of  Morals  and  Legislation,  pp.  49-55. 
Bentham  here  uses  the  term  'motive'  to  designate 
what  we  have  called  the  moving  cause. 

We  may  select  of  the  many  examples  which  he 

gives  that  of  curiosity.     We  may  imagine  a  boy 

spinning  a  top,  reading  a  useful  book   and  letting 

a  wild  ox  loose  in  a  road.     Now  curiosity  may  be 

the  '  motive  '  of  each  of  these  acts,  yet  the  first  act 

would  generally  be  called  morally  indifferent,  the 

second  good,  the  third  abominable. 


What  we  mean  by  the  '  natural '  feelings,  then, 
is  the  feelings  considered  in  abstraction  from 
activity.  Benevolence,  as  a  mere  feeling,  has  no 
higher  moral  value  than  malevolence.  But  if  it  is 
directed  upon  action  it  gets  a  value  at  once;  let  the 
end,  the  act,  be  right,  and  benevolence  becomes  a 
name  for  a  moral  disposition — a  tendency  to  act  in 
the  due  way.  Nothing  is  more  important  than  to 
distinguish  between  mere  sentiments,  and  feeling 
as  an  element  in  conduct. 

VII. 

Relation  Do  the  consequences  of  an  act 

of  have  anything  to  do  with  its  mo- 

Consequences  rality?     We  may  say  no, pointing 

and  to  the  fact  that  a  man  who  does  his 

Conduct.  best  we  call  good,  although  the 
consequences  of  his  act  may  be  far  from  good. 
We  say  his  purpose  in  acting  was  right,  and  using 
as  he  did  all  the  knowledge  that  he  had,  he  is  not 
to  be  blamed  for  its  bad  consequences.  On  the 
other  hand,  it  is  evident  that  we  do  take  into  ac- 
count consequences  in  estimating  the  moral  value 
of  an  act.  Suppose,  to  use  one  of  Bentham's  exam- 
ples, a  person  were  about  to  shoot  an  animal  but 
foresaw  that  in  doing  so  there  was  a  strong  proba- 
bility that  he  would  also  wound  some  bystander. 
If  he  shot  and  the  spectator  were  wounded,  should 
we  not  hold  the  agent  morally  responsible  ?     Are 


there  not  multitudes  of  intended  acts  of  which  we 
say  that  we  cannot  tell  whether  they  are  good  or 
bad  until  we  know  how  they  are  likely  to  turn 
out? 

The  solution  of  the  difficulty  is  in  recognizing 
the  ambiguity  of  the  term  '  consequences  '.  It  may 
mean  the  whole  outcome  of  the  act.  When  I  speak, 
I  set  in  motion  the  air,  and  its  vibrations  have,  in 
turn,  long  chains  of  effects.  Whatever  I  do  must 
have  an  endless  succession  of  '  consequences '  of 
which  I  can  know  but  very  little;  just  so  far  as,  in 
any  act,  I  am  ignorant  of  the  conditions  under 
which  it  is  performed,  so  far  I  am  ignorant 
of  its  consequences.  Such  consequences  are 
wholly  irrelevant  morally.  They  have  no  more  to  do 
with  the  morality  of  the  act  than  has  the  fact  that 
the  earth  is  revolving  while  the  act  is  taking 
place. 

I  But  we  may  mean  by  consequences  the  foreseen 
consequences  of  an  act.  Just  in  the  degree 
that  any  consequence  is  considered  likely  to  r^ult 
from  an  act,  just  in  that  degree  it  gets  moral  value, 
for  it  becomes  part  of  the  act  itself.  The  reason 
that  in  many  cases  we  cannot  judge  of  the  morality 
of  an  intended  act  until  we  can  judge  its  probable 
results,  is  that  until  we  know  of  these  results  the 
action  is  a  mere  abstraction,  having  no  content  at 
all.      The  conceived  results  constitute  the  content  of 


9 


the  act  to  be  performed.  They  are  not  merely  rele- 
vant to  its  morality,  but  are  its  moral  quality.  The 
question  is  whether  any  consequence  is  foreseen, 
conceived,  or  not.  The  foreseen,  the  ideal  conse- 
quences are  the  end  of  the  act,  and  as  such  form 
the  motive. 

See  on  Sections  6  and  7,  Alexander,  Moral  Order  and 
Progress,  pp.  36-46;  on  Section  7,  Green,  Prolegomena 
to  Ethics,  pp.  317-323. 

VIII. 

Character  We  have  seen  that  the  moral  senti- 
and  ments,  or  the  moral  disposition  (dis- 
Conduct,  tinguished  from  the  feelings  as  passing 
emotions),  on  one  side,  and  the  consequences  as 
ideal  or  conceived  (distinguished  from  the  con- 
sequences that,  de  facto,  result),  on  the  other,  both 
have  moral  value.  If  we  take  the  moral  feelings, 
not  one  by  one,  but  as  a  whole,  as  an  attitude  of 
the  agent  toward  conduct,  as  expressing  the  kind  of 
motives  which  upon  the  whole  moves  him  to  action, 
we  have  character.  ■>  And  just  so,  if  we  take  the 
consequences  willed,  not  one  by  one,  but  as  a 
whole,  as  the  kind  of  end  which  the  agent  endeav- 
ors to  realize,  we  have  conduct.  Character  and 
conduct  are,  morally,  the  same  thing,  looked  at  first 
inwardly  and  then  outwardly.  Character,  except 
as  manifest  in  conduct,  is  a  barren  ideality.  Our 
moral  judgments  are  always  severe  upon  a  man 


10 


who  has  nothing  to  show  but '  good  intentions  '  never 
executed.  This  is  what  character  comes  to,  apart 
fi'om  conduct.  Our  only  way  of  telling  the  nature 
of  character  is  the  conduct  that  issues  from  it. 
But,  on  the  other  hand,  conduct  is  mere  outward 
formalism,  excepting  as  it  manifests  character.  To 
say  that  a  man's  conduct  is  good,  unless  it  is  the 
manifestation  of  a  good  character,  is  to  pass  a 
judgment  which  is  self- contradictory. 

See  Alex;i!j(ler,  Op.  cit.,  pp.  4S-50  and  }>.  39. 

From  this  point  of  view  we  are  enabled  to 
identify  the  two  senses  of  motive  already  discussed 
— the  ideal  of  action  and  the  moving  feelings. 
Apart  from  each  other  they  are  abstractions. 
Csesar's  motive  in  crossing  the  Kubicon  may  have 
been  '  ambition,'  but  this  was  not  some  bare  feeling. 
It  was  a  feeling  of  ambition  produced  in  view  of 
the  contemplation  of  a  certain  end  which  he  wished 
to  reach.  So  a  boy's  motive  in  striking  a  playmate 
may  be  anger,  but  this  means  (if  the  act  is  any- 
thing more  than  one  of  blind  physical  reaction)  an 
anger  having  its  conscious  cause  and  aim,  and  not 
some  abstract  feeling  of  anger  in  general.  The 
feeling  which  has  its  nature  made  what  it  is  by  the 
conceived  end,  and  the  end  which  has  ceased  to  be 
a  bare  abstract  conception  and  become  an  interest, 
are  all  one  with  each  other. 

Morality  is  then  a  matter  pertaining  to  charac- 


11 


ter — to  the  feelings  and  inclinations  as  transformed 
by  ends  of  action;  and  to  conduct — to  conceived 
ends  transformed  into  act  under  the  influence  of 
emotions.  But  what  kind  of  character,  of  conduct, 
is  right  or  realizes  its  true  end  ?  This  brings  us  to 
our  first  problem. 


PART  I. 


FUNDAMENTAL  ETHICAL  NOTIONS. 


Chapter  I.— THE   GOOD. 


IX. 

Subdivision       We   may    recognize   tliree    main 
of  types  of  theories  regarding  the  good, 

Theories,  of  which  the  first  two  represent  (we 
shall  attempt  to  show)  each  respectively  one  side  of 
the  truth,  while  the  third  combines  the  one-sided 
truths  of  the  other  two.  Of  the  first  two  theories 
one  is^  abstract,  because  it  tends  to  find  the  good-in 
the___mere  consequences  of  conduct^  aside  from 
character.  This  is  the  hedonistic  theory,  which 
finds  the  good  to  be  pleasure.  This  is  either  indi- 
vidualistic or  universalistic  according  as  it  takes 
individual  or  general  pleasure  to  be  the  good.  The 
second  type  of  theories  attempts  to  find  the  good 
in  the  motive  of  conduct  fiipart  f^'^Tn  nnnsognanpfta 
even  as-wiH^:  it  reduces  the  goodjto  conformity 
to  abstract   morallaw.      The   best   type   of    this 


14 

theory  is  the  Kantian.  We  shall  criticize  these 
theories  with  a  view  to  developing  the  factors 
necessary  to  a  true  moral  theory. 

X. 

Hedonism.  According  to  the  strict  hedonistic 
position,  the  pleasure  resulting  to  the  agent  from 
his  act  is  the  end  of  conduct  and  is  therefore  the 
criterion  of  its  morality.  The  position  as  usually 
taken  involves,  first,  that  pleasure  is  psychologically 
the  sole  motive  to  action;  and,  secondly,  that  the 
results  of  an  act  in  the  way  of  the  pain  or  pleasure  it 
produces  are  the  only  tests  we  have  of  the  rightness 
of  the  act. 

It  is  said  above  that  these  two  points  are  involved 
in  the  hedonistic  position  as  usually  taken.  They  are 
not  necessarily  involved. 

Siclgwick.  (Methods  of  Ethics,  Bk.  I,  ch.  lY  and 
Bk.  ly,  ch.  I)  holds  that  plea,am:g^js_not_tlie_object 
pf  dft,sir^,OT_jaQtivja,.Qf_ action,  huJL^thatJiappiiiess  is 
the_moral_end  and  criteruin.  On  the  other  hand 
Hodgson  (Theory  of  Practice,  Vol.  II,  ch.  II)  holds 
that  pleasure  m-dy  be  the  motive  (in  the  sense  of  im- 
pelling force)  but  it  is  never  the  criterion  of  conduct. 
Kant  adopts  the  psychology  of  hedonism  regarding 
pleasure  as  the  object  of  desire,  but  holds  that  on  that 
very  account  no  object  of  desire  can  be  the  standard 
of  moral  conduct. 

A  good  statement  of  strict  individualistic  hedon- 
ism is  the  following  from  Barratt,  Physical  Ethics, 
page  71:  "If  man  aims  at  pleasure  merely  by  the 
physical  law  of  action,  that  pleasure  must  evidently  be 
ultimately  his  own,  and  whether  it  be  or  not  preceded 


15 

by  phenomena  which  he  calls  the  pain  and  pleasure  of 
others,  is  a  question  not  of  principle  but  of  detail,  just 
as  the  force  of  a  pound  weight  is  unaltered  whether  it 
be  composed  of  lead  or  of  feathers,  or  whether  it  act 
directly  or  through  pulleys." 

XI. 

The  Hedonistic       Hedonism  holds  that  pleasure 
Position  is  both  the  natural  end  and  the 

Sup  po  rted .  proper  criterion  of  action : 
The  following  quotation  from  Bentham  (Princi- 
ples of  Morals  and  Legislation,  Works,  Vol.  1,  p.  1) 
gives  a  statement  of  both  these  elements.  "Mature 
has  placed  man  under  the  governance  of  two  sovereign 
masters,  pain  and  pleasure.  It  is  for  them  alone  to 
point  out  what  we  ought  to  do,  [i.  e.  they  are  criteria] 
as  well  as  to  determine  what  we  shall  do  [motives],  On 
the  one  hand,  the  standard  of  right  or  wrong  [crite- 
rion]; on  the  other  the  chain  of  causes  and  effects 
[motives],  are  fastened  to  their  throne." 

1.  Pleasure  as  Criterion.  That  the  tendency 
of  an  action  to  produce  pleasure  is  the  standard 
for  judging  its  moral  value  is  generally  held  by  the 
hedonists  to  be  so  axiomatic  as  to  be  beyond 
argument. 

See  Bain,  Moral  Science,  p.  27.  "  The  ultimate  data 
must  be  accepted  as  self-evident:  they  have  no  higher 
authority  than  that  mankind  generally  are  disposed  to 
accept  them.  .  .  Now  there  can  be  no  proof  offered 
for  the  position  that  happiness  is  the  proper  end  of  all 
human  pursuits,  the  criterion  of  all  right  conduct.  It 
is  an  ultimate  or  final  assumption  to  be  tested  by 
reference  to  the  individual  judgment  of  mankind." 
8o   Bentham,  Enquiry  I,  II,    "The  principle  is  not 


/ 
16 

susceptible  of  direct  proofs  for  that  which  is  used  to 
prove  everything  else  can  not  itself  be  proved;  a  chain 
of  proofs  must  have  their  commencement  some- 
where." Mill,  Utilitarianism.  (Dissertations  and 
Discussions,  pp.  348-349).  "  The  only  proof  capable  of 
being  given  that  an  object  is  visible  is  that  people 
actually  see  it.  In  like  manner  the  sole  evidence  it  is 
possible  to  produce  that  anything  is  desirable  is  that 
people  do  actually  desire  it."  See  Stephen,  Science 
of  Ethics,  p.  42;  Spencer,  Data  of  Ethics,  pp.  30-32 
and  p.  46;  Lotze,  Practical  Philosophy,  pp.  18-19; 
Sidgwick,  Methods  of  Ethics,  pp.  368-369. 

Hedonism,  then,  represents  the  good  or  the 
desirable  and  pleasixre  to  be  two  names  for  the 
same  fact.  What  indeed  can  be  worth  while  unless 
it  be  either  enjoyable  in  itself  or  at  least  a  means 
to  enjoyment  ?  Would  theft  be  considered  bad  if  it 
resulted  in  pleasure  or  truth  itself  good  if  its 
universal  effect  were  pain  ? 

2.  Pleasure  as  object  of  desire.  It  is  also 
urged  that  psychological  analysis  shows  that  pleas- 
ure is  not  only  the  desirable,  but  also  always  the 
desired.  Desire  for  an  object  is  only  a  short  way 
of  saying  desire  for  the  pleasure  which  that  object 
may  bring.  To  want  food  is  to  want  the  pleas- 
ure it  brings;  to  want  scientific  ability  is  to  desire 
to  find  satisfaction,  or  attain  happiness.  Thus  it 
is  laid  down  as  a  general  principle  that  the  inva- 
riable object  of  desire,  ^nd  motive  of  action  is  some 
pleasure  to  be  attained;  the  action  itself  and  the 
direct  end  of  action  being  simply  means  to  pleasure. 


17 

For  a  strong  statement  of  this  doctrine  see  Mill, 
Op.  cit.,  pp.  354-5.  "Desiring  a  thing  and  finding  it 
pleasant,  aversion  to  it  and  thinking  of  it  as  painful, 
are  phenomena  entirely  inseparable,  or  rather  two 
parts  of  the  same  phenomenon, — in  strictness  of  lan- 
guage, two  different  modes  of  naming  the  same  psy- 
chological fact;  to  think  of  an  object  as  desirable  and 
to  think  of  it  as  pleasant  are  one  and  the  same  thing. 
See  also,  Bain,  Emotions  and  Will,  p.  436,  Senses  and 
Intellect,  pp.  338-344;  Sully,  Outlines  of  Psychology,  p. 
575,  "  The  inclination  or  tendency  of  the  active  mind 
towards  what  is  pleasurable  and  away  from  what  is 
painful  is  the  essential  fact  in  willing."  Also  pp.  576- 
577. 

XII,    Criticism. 

Pleasure  Notl  Taking  up  the  points  in  reverse 
the  End  /order,  we  shall  endeavor  to  show 
of  Impulse/  first,  that  the  motive  of  action,  in 
the  sense  ©i  end  aimed  at,  is  not  pleasure.  This 
point  in  itself,  is,  of  course,  rather  psychological 
than  ethical.  Taking  up  then  the  psychology  of 
pleasure  in  its  connection  with  will,  we  shall 
discuss  its  relation  to  impulse,  to  desire  and  to 
motive. 

It  is  generally  agreed  that  the  raw  material  of 
volition  is  found  in  some  form  or  other  of  the  im- 
pulsive or  instinctive  actions.  Such  tendencies 
(e.  g.,  the  impulse  for  food,  for  drink,  for  unim- 
peded motion)  clearly  precede  the  reaching  of  an 
end,  and  hence  the  experience  of  any  pleasure  in 

the  end.     Our  first  actions,  at  least,  are  not  for 
2 


18 

pleasure;  on  the  contrary,  there  is  an  activity  for 
some  independent  end,  and  this  end  being  reached 
there  is  pleasure  in  an  act  which  has  succeeded. 
This  suggests  as  a  possible  principle  that  pleasure 
is  not  so  much  the  end  of  action,  as  an  element  in 
the  activity  which  reaches  an  end.  What  Aristotle 
says  of  another  matter  is  certainly  true  of  instinct- 
ive action.  "It  is  not  true  of  every  characteristic 
function  that  its  action  is  attended  with  pleasure, 
except  indeed  the  pleasure  of  attaining  its  end  J' 

See  Martineau,  Types  of  Ethical  Theory,  Vol.  II, 
pp.  299-300;  Sidgwick,  Op.  cit.,  pp.  38-45. 

XI 11.  CriUc'ism— Continued. 
Pleasure  Not  )  It  may,  however,  be  said  that, 
the  End  /hile  our  instinctive  actions  have 
of  Desire/ another  end  than  pleasure,  this  is 
not  true  of  conscious  desires — that,  indeed,  just  the 
difference  between  instinct  and  desire  is  that  the 
former  goes  blindly  to  its  end,  while  the  latter 
superimposes  the  thought  of  the  pleasure  to  be 
reached  upon  the  mere  instinct.  So  we  have  to 
analyze  the  nature  of  desire. 

A  child,  led  by  impulse,  has  put  a  piece  of  sugar 
into  his  mouth,  just  as,  under  the  same  circum- 
stances, he  would  put  a  piece  of  stone  into  his 
mouth.  But  his  action  results  in  a  state  of  pleas- 
ure wholly  unforseen  by  him.  Now  the  next  time 
the  child  sees  the  sugar  he  will  not  merely  have 


19 


the  impulse  to  put  it  in  his  mouth.  There  will 
also  be  the  remembrance  of  the  pleasure  enjoyed 
from  sugar  previously.  There  is  consciousness  of 
sugar  as  satisfying  impulse  and  hence  desire  for  it. 
1.  This  is  a  description  of  an  instance  of  desire. 
Does  it  bear  us  out  in  the  doctrine  that  pleasure  is 
the  object  of  desire?  It  is  possible  that,  in  an  irra- 
tional animal,  the  experience  of  eating  food  rein- 
forces the  original  instinct  for  it  with  associated 
images  of  pleasure.  But  even  this  is  very  different 
from  a  desire  for  pleasure.  It  is  simply  the  pri- 
mordial instinct  intensified  and  rendered  more 
acute  by  new  sensational  factors  joined  to  it.  In 
the  strict  sense,  there  is  still  no  desire,  but  only 
stronger  impulse.  Wherever  there  is  desire  there 
is  not  only  a  feeling  of  pleasure  associated  with 
other  feelings  (e.  g.,  those  of  hunger,  thirst),  but 
there  is  the  consciousness  of  an  object  in  ivhich 
satisfaction  is  found.  The  error  of  the  hedonistic 
psychology  is  in  omitting  one's  consciousness  of  an 
object  which  satisfies.  The  hedonists  are  quite 
right  in  holding  that  the  end  of  desire  is  not  any 
object  external  to  consciousness,  but  a  condition 
of  consciousness  itself.  The  error  begins  in  elim- 
inating all  objective  (that  is,  active)  elements  from 
consciousness,  and  declaring  it  to  be  a  mere  state 
of  feeling  or  sensation.  The  practical  conscious- 
ness, or  will,  cannot  be  reduced  to  mere  feeling, 


20 


any  more   than   the   theoretical  consciousness,  or 

knowledge,  can  be  so  reduced. 

Even  Mill,  in  its  statement   of   the   hedonistic 

psychology,  does  not  succeed  in  making  the  object 

of  desire  mere  pleasure  as  a  state  of  feeling.    Jt 

is   the   ''pleasant   thing ^^  and  not  pleasure   alone 

which  he  finds  equivalent  to    the  desire.       It    is 

true  enough  that  sugar  as  an  external  fact  does  not 

awaken  desire,  but  it  is  equally  true  that  a  child  does 

not  want  a  passive  pleasure.     What  he  wants  is  his 

own  activity  in  which  he  makes  the  sugar  his  own. 

And  it  should  be  remembered  that  the  case  of  sugar 

is  at  once  a  trivial  and  an  exceptional  one.     Not 

even  children  want  simply  sweat-meats;  and  the 

larger  the  character  which  finds  expression  in  wants, 

the  more  does  the  direct  object  of  want,  the  bread, 

the  meat,  become  a  mere  element  in  a  larger  system 

of  activity.     What  a  man  wants  is  to  live,  and  he 

wants  sweet- meats,  amusements,   etc.,    just   as  he 

wants  substantial — on  account  of  their  value  in 

life. 

Professor  James  compares  the  idea  that  pleasure  is 
the  end  of  desire  to  saying  that  "  because  no  steamer 
can  go  to  sea  without  incidentally  consuming  coal, 
.  .  .  therefore  no  steamer  can  go  to  sea  for  any  other 
motive  than  that  of  coal-consumption."  Psychology, 
Vol.  II,  p.  558.    See  the  entire  passage,  pp.  549-559. 

2.     But  granting  that  an  '  object '  and  a  '  pleas- 
ure '  are  both  necessary  to  desire,  it  may  be  argued 


21 


that  the  '  object '  is  ultimately  a  means  to  '  pleas- 
ure.' This  expressly  raises  a  question  already  inci- 
dentally touched  upon:  What  is  the  controlling 
element  in  desire  ?  Why  is  the  object  thought  of 
as  pleasant  ?  Simply  because  it  is  thought  of  as 
satisfying  want.  The  hedonists,  says  Green  (Pro- 
legomena to  Ethics,  p.  168),  make  the  "  mistake  of 
supposing  that  a  desire  can  be  excited  by  the  antic- 
ipation of  its  own  satisfaction."  This  is  to  say,  of 
course,  that  it  exists  before  it  exists,  and  thus 
brings  itself  into  being. 

Green,  Op.  cit.,  p.  167,  states  the  matter  thus: 
''  Ordinary  motives  are  interests  in  the  attainment  of 
objects,  without  which  it  seems  to  the  man  that  he 
cannot  satisfy  himself,  and  in  the  attainment  of 
which,  because  he  has  desired  them,  he  will  find  a  cer- 
tain pleasure,  but  only  because  he  has  previously  de- 
sired them,  not  because  pleasures  are  the  objects 
des'.red."  P>radley  says  on  this  same  point  (Ethical 
Studies,  p.  230):  "  The  difference  is  between  my  find- 
ing my  pleasure  in  an  end,  and  my  finding  means  for 
the  end  of  my  pleasure,  and  the  difference  is  enor- 
mous." Consult  the  entire  passage,  pp.  226-235.  See 
also  Caird,  Critical  Philosophy  of  Kant,  Vol.  II,  p.  229. 

It  is  the  object,  then,  which  controls,  and  the 
pleasure  is  on  account  of  the  attaining  of  the 
desired  object.  But  even  this  statement  makes 
more  division  in  desire  than  actually  exists ;  for 

3.  The  real  object  of  desire  is  activity  itself. 
The  will  takes  its  rise,  as  we  have  seen,  in  impulse ; 
in  the  reaching  for  something  to  satisfy  some  felt 


22 


lack.  Now,  in  reality,  desire  adds  nothing  to 
impulse  excepting  consciousness  of  the  impulse. 
Volitional  action  does  not  difPer  from  impulsive  or 
instinctive,  except  in  bringing  to  consciousness  the 
nature  of  the  ivant  and  of  the  activity  necessary  to 
satisfy  it.  But  this  makes  just  the  difPerence 
between  '  natural '  or  animal  activity,  and  '  moral ' 
or  human  activity.  To  be  conscious  of  the  impulse 
is  to  elevate  it  from  a  blind  impelling  force  to  an 
intended  or  proposed  end;  and  thus,  by  bringing  it 
before  consciousness,  both  to  extend  its  range  and 
to  idealize  it,  spiritualize  it.  To  be  conscious  of  an 
impulse  for  food  means  to  give  up  the  unreasoned 
and  momentary  seizing  of  it;  to  consider  the  rela- 
tion of  things  to  this  want,  what  will  satisfy  it  best, 
most  easily,  etc.  The  object  of  desire  is  not  some- 
thing outside  the  action;  it  is  an  element  in  the 
enlarged  action.  And  as  we  become  more  and 
more  conscious  of  impulse  for  food,  we  analyze  our 
action  into  more  and  more  '  objects '  of  desire,  but 
these  objects  never  become  anything  apart  from  the 
action  itself.  They  are  simply  its  analyzed  and 
defined  content.  Man  wants  activity  still,  but  he 
knows  better  what  activity  means  and  includes. 

Thus,  when  we  learn  what  the  activity  means,  it 
changes  its  character.  To  the  animal  the  activity 
wanted  is  simply  that  of  eating  the  food,  of 
realizing  the  momentary  impulse.      To   man   the 


23 


activity  becomes  enlarged  to  include  the  satisfaction 
of  a  whole  life,  and  not  of  one  life  singly,  but  of 
the  family,  etc.,  connected  with  the  single  life. 
The  material  well-being  of  the  family  becomes 
one  of  the  objects  of  desire  into  which  the  original 
impulse  has  grown.  But  we  misinterpret,  when 
we  conceive  of  this  well-being  as  an  external  object 
lying  outside  the  action.  It  means  simply  one 
aspect  of  the  fuller  action.  By  like  growing  con- 
sciousness of  the  meaning  of  the  impulse,  produc- 
tion and  exchange  of  commodities  are  organized. 
The  impulse  for  food  is  extended  to  include  a 
whole  range  of  commercial  activities. 

It  is  evident  that  this  growing  consciousness  of 
the  nature  of  an  impulse,  whereby  we  resolve  it  into 
manifold  and  comprehensive  activities,  also  takes 
the  impulse  out  of  its  isolation  and  brings  it  into 
connection  with  other  impulses.  We  come  to  have 
not  a  series  of  disconnected  impulses,  but  one  all- 
inclusive  activity  in  which  various  subordinate  ac- 
tivities (or  conscious  impulses)  are  included.  Thus, 
in  the  previous  example,  the  impulse  for  food  is 
united  with  the  family  impulse,  and  with  the 
impulse  for  communication  and  intercourse  with 
society  generally.  It  is  this  growing  unity  with 
the  whole  range  of  man's  action  that  is  the 
*  spiritualizing '  of  the  impulse  —  the  natural 
and  brutal  impulse  being  just  that  which  insists 


24 


upon  itself  irrespective  of  all  other  wants.  The 
spiritualizing  of  the  impulse  is  organizing  it  so 
that  it  becoms  one  factor  in  action.  Thus  we  lit- 
erally come  to  'eat  to  live',  meaning  by  life  not 
mere  physical  existence,  but  the  whole  possible 
sphere  of  active  human  relations. 

4.  Relation  of  activity  to  pleasure.  We  have 
seen  that  the  '  object '  of  desire  in  itself  is  a  mere 
abstraction;  that  the  real  object  is  full  activity  itself. 
We  are  always  after  larger  scope  of  movement, 
fuller  income  in  order  to  get  larger  outgo.  The 
*  thing '  is  always  for  the  sake  of  doing ;  is  a  part  of 
the  doing.  The  idea  that  anything  less  or  other 
than  life  (movement,  action,  and  doing),  can  satisfy 
man  is  as  ridiculous  when  compared  with  the  act- 
ual course  of  things  in  history,  as  it  is  false  psy- 
chologically. Freedom  is  what  we  want,  and  free- 
dom means  full  unimpeded  play  of  interests,  that 
is,  of  conscious  impulses  (see  Sec.  34  and  51).  If 
the  object  is  a  mere  abstraction  apart  from  activity, 
much  more  is  pleasure.  Mere  pleasure  as  an 
object  is  simply  the  extreme  of  passivity,  of  mere 
having,  as  against  action  or  doing.  It  is  possible  to 
make  pleasure  to  some  degree  the  object  of  desire; 
this  is  just  what  the  voluptuary  does.  But  it  is  a 
commonplace  that  the  voluptuary  always  defeats 
himself.  He  never  gets  satisfaction  who  identifies 
satisfaction  with  having  pleasures.     The  reason  is 


25 


•evident  enough.  Activity  is  what  we  want,  and  since 
pleasure  comes  from  getting  what  we  want,  pleasure 
comes  only  with  activity.  To  give  up  the  activity, 
and  attempt  to  get  the  pleasure  is  a  contradiction  in 
effect.  Hence  also  the  'hedonistic  paradox' — that 
in  order  to  get  pleasure  we  must  aim  at  something 
else. 

There  is  an  interesting  reco;2:nition  of  this  in  Mill 
himself,  (see  his  Autobiography,  p.  142).  And  in  his 
Utilitarianism,  in  discussing^  the  feasibility  of  getting 
happiness,  he  shows  (pp.  318-319)  that  the  sources  of 
happiness  are  an  intelligent  interest  in  surrounding 
things— objects  of  nature,  achievements  of  art,  inci- 
dents of  history — and  especially  an  unselfish  devotion 
to  others.  Which  is  to  say  that  man  does  not  find  sat- 
isfaction in  pleasure  as  such  at  all,  but  only  in  ob- 
jective affairs— that  is,  in  complete  interpretation,  in 
activity  with  a  wide  and  full  content.  Further  con- 
sideration of  the  end  of  desire  and  its  relation  to 
pleasure  may  be  found  in  Green,  Op.  cit.,pp.  123-132; 
pp.  163-167.  Bradley,  Mind,  Vol.  XIII,  p.  1,  and 
Dewey,  Psychology,  pp.  360-365. 

XIV.    Criticism— Continued. 
Character       It  now  being  admitted  that  the  end 
and  of  desire  is  activity  itself  in  which  the 

Pleasu  re.  '  object '  and  '  pleasure '  are  simply  fac- 
tors, what  is  the  moving  spring  to  action?  What 
is  it  that  arouses  the  mind  to  the  larger  activity? 
Most  of  the  hedonists  have  confounded  the  two 
senses  of  motive  already  spoken  of,  and  have  held 
^that  because  pleasure  is  the  end  ofdesirop  therefore 


26 

it  is  the  moving  spring  of  conduct  (or  more  often 
that  because  it  is  the  moving  spring  of  conduct 
it  therefore  is  the  end  of  desire). 

Mr.  Stephen  (Science  of  Ethics,  pp.  46-58), 
although  classing  himself  as  a  hedonist,  has 
brought  out  this  confusion  very  clearly.  Ordinary 
hedonism  confounds,  as  he  shows,  the  judgment  of 
what  is  pleasant — the  supposed  end — with  the 
pleasant  judgment — the  moving  spring.  (See  also 
Bradley,  Op.  cit.,  pp.  232-236).  It  maybe  ad- 
mitted that  it  is  feeling  which  moves  to  action,  but 
it  is  the  present  feeling  which  moves.  If  the 
feeling  aimed  at  moves,  it  is  only  as  through 
anticipation  it  becomes  the  present  feeling.  Now 
is  this  present  feeling  which  moves  ( 1 )  mere  pleas- 
ure and  (2 )  mere  feeling  at  all  ?  This  introduces 
us  to  the  question  of  the  relation  of  pleasure  (and 
of  feeling  in  general)  to  character. 

1.  If  the  existing  state  of  consciousness — that 
which  moves — were  pure  pleasure,  why  should 
there  be  any  movement,  any  act  at  all  ?  The  feel- 
ing which  moves  must  be  in  so  far  complex:  over 
against  the  pleasure  felt  in  the  anticipation  of  an 
end  as  satisfying,  there  must  be  pain  felt  in  the 
contrasting  unsatisfactory  present  condition.  There 
must  be  tension  between  the  anticipated  or  ideal 
action,  and  the  actual  or  present  (relative)  non- 
action.    And  it  is  this  tension,  in  which  pain  is  just 


27 

as  normal  an  element  as  pleasure,  which  moves. 
Desire  is  just  this  tension  of  an  action  which  satis- 
fies, and  yet  is  only  ideal,  against  an  actual  posses- 
sion which,  in  contrast  with  the  ideal  action,  is  felt 
as  incomplete  action,  or  lack,  and  hence  as  unsatis- 
factory. 

2.  The  question  now  comes  as  to  the  nature  of 
this  tension.  We  may  call  it  '  feeling,'  if  we  will, 
and  say  that  feeling  is  the  sole  motive  power  to 
action.  But  there  is  no  such  thing  as  feeling  at 
large,  and  the  important  thing,  morally,  is  what 
kind  of  feeling  moves.  To  take  a  mere  abstraction 
like  '  feeling '  for  the  source  of  action  is,  at  root, 
the  fallacy  of  hedonism.  To  raise  the  question, 
What  is  it  that  makes  the  feeling  what  it  is,  is  to 
recognize  that  the  feeling,  taken  concretely,  is  char- 
acter in  a  certain  attitude. 

Stephen,  who  has  insisted  with  great  force  that 
feeling  is  the  sole  'motive'  to  action,  has  yet  shown 
with  equal  cogency  the  moral  uselessness  of  such  a 
doctrine,  when  feeling  is  left  undefined  (Op.  cit.,  p.  44). 
"The  love  of  happiness  must  express  the  sole  possible 
motive  of  Judas  Iscariot  and  his  master;  it  must  ex- 
plain the  conduct  of  Stylites  on  his  column,  of  Tiberius 
at  Capre^e,  of  A  Kempis  in  his  cell,  and  of  kelson  in  the 
cockpit  of  the  Victory.  It  must  be  equally  good  for 
saints,  martyrs,  heroes,  cowards,  debauchees,  ascetics,, 
mystics,  cynics,  misers,  prodigals,  men,  women,  and 
babes  in  arms."  Surely,  this  is  only  to  say,  in  effect, 
that  '  love  of  happiness '  is  a  pure  bit  of  scholasticism,, 
an  undefined  entitv. 


28 


In  a  hedonistic  argument  (by  Stanton  Coit,Mind, 
Vol.  XI,  p.  349),  the  fallacy  is  seen  in  the  following 
discussion.  The  story  is  told  of  Abraham  Lincoln 
that  he  once  passed  an  animal  in  distress  by  the 
side  of  the  road,  and  that,  after  going  by,  he  finally 
went  back  and  got  him  out  of  the  ditch.  On  being 
praised  for  his  act,  he  replied  that  he  did  it  on  his 
own  account,  since  he  kept  getting  more  uncomfort- 
able as  he  thought  of  the  animal  in  distress.  From 
this,  it  cannot  be  inferred  that  love  of  pleasure  is  at 
the  basis  of  moral  acts.  The  mere  lumping  off  of 
feeling  as  the  spring  of  conduct  overlooks  the  only 
important  thing  morally — the  fact  that  Lincoln  felt 
pain  at  the  thought  of  the  animal  unrelieved, 
and  pleasure  at  the  idea  of  its  relief,  just  be- 
cause he  was  a  man  of  compassionate  character. 
It  was  not  the  feeling,  but  the  character  revealed 
in,  and  creative  of,  the  feeling  that  was  the  real 
source  of  the  act. 

To  connect  this  with  our  previous  account  of  de- 
sire (p.  26 ) :  the  important  thing  morally  is  that  the 
nature  of  the  tension  between  fact  and  idea — the 
actual  state  and  the  ideal  activity — is  an  expression 
of  character.  What  kind  of  activity  does  it  take 
to  satisfy  a  man?  Does  riding  in  a  comfortable 
carriage,  and  following  the  course  of  his  own  re- 
flections exhaust  his  need  of  action  ?  or  does  his  full 
activity  require  that  note  be  taken  of  a  suffering 


29 

animal  ?  It  is  the  kind  of  character  one  is  (that  is, 
the  kind  of  activity  which  satisfies  and  expresses 
one)  which  decides  what  pleasure  shall  be  taken  in 
an  anticipated  end,  what  feeling  of  lack  or  hin- 
drance (what  pain)  there  shall  be  in  the  given  state,^ 
and  hence  what  the  resulting  tension,  or  desire, 
shall  be.  It  is,  therefore,  character  which  moves  to 
conduct. 

Mere  wishing,  the  mere  floating  fancy  of  this  or 
that  thing  as  desirable,  is  not  desire.  To  iva7it  is 
an  active  projection  of  character;  really  and  deeply 
to  want  is  no  surface  and  passing  feeling;  it  is  the 
stirring  of  character  to  its  depths.  There  may  be 
repressed  activity;  that  is  not,  of  itself,  desire. 
There  may  be  an  image  of  larger  activity;  that  is 
not,  of  itself,  desire.  But  given  the  consciousness 
of  a  repressed  activity  in  view  of  the  perception  of 
a  possible  larger  action,  and  a  man  strives  within 
himself  to  break  his  bonds  and  reach  the  new  satis- 
faction. This  striving  within  one's  self,  before  the 
activity  becomes  overt,  is  the  emotional  antecedent 
of  action.  But  this  inward  striving  or  tension, 
which  constitutes  desire,  is  so  far  from  being  mere 
emotion  that  it  is  character  itself — character  as  it 
turns  an  inward  or  ideal  advance  into  an  outward, 
or  real  progress,  into  action. 

We  may  fall  back  on  Aristotle's  statement  (page 
38,  of  Peters'  translation  of  his  ethics):  "  The  pleasure 


30 


or  pain  that  accompanies  an  act  must  be  regarded  as  a 
test  of  character.  He  who  abstains  from  the  pleasures 
of  the  body  and  rejoices  in  his  abstinence  is  temperate, 
while  he  who  is  vexed  at  having  to  abstain  is  still  pro- 
fligate. As  Plato  tells  us,  man  needs  to  be  so  trained 
from  youth  up  as  to  take  pleasure  and  pain  in  the  right 
objects.'' 

XV. 

Summary.  The  truth  in  hedonism  is  its  convic- 
tion that  the  good,  the  end  of  man,  is  not  to  be 
found  in  any  outward  object,  but  only  in  what 
comes  home  to  man  in  his  own  conscious  experi- 
ence.  The  error  is  in  reducing  this  experience  to 
mere  having,  to  bare  feelings  or  affections,  elimi- 
nating the  element  of  doing.  It  is  this  doing 
which  satisfies  man,  and  it  is  this  which  involves  as 
its  content  (as  knowledge  of  impulse,  instead  of 
blind  impulse)  objective  and  permanent  ends. 
When  Mill  speaks  of  the  end  of  desire  as  a  "  satis- 
fied life,"  (p.  317  of  Utilitarianism)  he  carries  our 
assent ;  but  to  reduce  this  satisfied  life  to  feelings  of 
pleasure,  and  absence  of  pains,  is  to  destroy  the 
life  and  hence  the  satisfaction.  As  Mill  recognizes, 
a  life  bounded  by  the  agent's  own  feelings  would 
be,  as  of  course,  a  life  "  centred  in  his  own  mis- 
erable individuality."  (Mill,  p.  319).  Such  words 
have  meaning  only  because  they  suggest  the  con- 
trast with  activity  in  which  are  comprehended,  as 
*  ends '  or  '  objects  '  (that  is,  as  part  of  its  defined 


31 


content)    things — art,    science   and  industry — and 
persons  (see  Sees.  34  and  35). 

Here  too  we  must  'back  to  Aristotle.'  According 
to  him  the  end  of  conduct  is  eudaimonia,  success,  wel- 
fare, satisfied  life.  But  eudaimonia  is  found  not  in 
pleasure,  but  in  the  fulfillment  of  human  powers  and 
functions,  in  which  fulfillment,  since  it  is  fulfillment 
pleasure  is  had.    (Ethics,  Bk.  I,  ch.  4-8). 

We  now  take  up  the  question  whether  pleasure 
is  a  standard  of  right  action,  having  finished  the 
discussion  concerning  it  as  an  end  of  desire. 
XVI. 
Pleasure        The  line  of  criticism  on  this  point 
as  the       may  be  stated  as  follows:     Pleasure 
Standard    fails  as  a  standard  for  the  very  reason 
of  that  it  fails  as  a  motive.     Pleasure, 

Conduct,  as  conceived  by  the  hedonist,  is  pas- 
sive, merely  agreeable  sensations,  without  any  objec- 
tive and  qualitative,  (active)  character.  This  being 
so,  there  is  no  permanent,  fixed  basis  to  which  we 
may  refer  acts  and  by  which  we  may  judge  them. 
A  standard  implies  a  single  comprehensive  end 
which  unifies  all  acts  and  through  connection  with 
which  each  gets  its  moral  value  fixed.  Only  action 
can  be  a  standard  for  acts.  To  reduce  all  acts  to 
means  to  getting  a  mere  state  of  feeling  is  the  inevi- 
table consequence  of  hedonism.  So  reducing  them 
is  to  deprive  them  of  any  standard  of  value. 

An  end  to  serve  as  standard  must  be  (1)  a  com- 


32 


prehensive  end  for  all  the  acts  of  an  individual,  and 
(2)  an  end  comprehending  the  activities  of  various 
individuals — a  common  good. 

1.  The  moral  end  must  be  that  for  the  sake  of 
which  all  conduct  occurs — the  organizing  principle 
of  conduct — a  totality,  a  system.  If  pleasure  is 
the  end  it  is  because  each  detail  of  conduct  gets  its 
placing,  its  moral  value  through  relation  to  pleas- 
ure, through  the  contribution  it  makes  to  pleasure. 

2.  The  moral  end  must  also  include  the  ends  of 
the  various  agents  who  make  up  society.  It  must 
be  capable  of  constituting  a  social  system  out  of 
the  acts  of  various  agents,  as  well  as  an  individual 
system  out  of  the  various  acts  of  one  agent;  or, 
more  simply,  the  moral  end  must  be  not  only  the 
good  for  all  the  particular  acts  of  an  individual, 
but  must  be  a  common  good — a  good  which  in  satis- 
fying one,  satisfies  others. 

Ail  ethical  theories  would  claim  that  the  end 
proposed  by  them  served  these  two  purposes.  We 
shall  endeavor  to  show  that  the  hedonistic  theory, 
the  doctrine  that  the  pleasure  is  the  good,  is  not 
capable  of  serving  either  of  them. 

XVII. 
Pleasure       1.     It  does  not  unify  character.     In 
Not  a      the  first  place,  the  hedonistic    theory 
Standard,  makes  an  unreal  and  impossible  sepa- 
ration between  conduct  and  character.     The  psy- 


33 


chology  of  hedonism  comes  into  conflict  with  its 
ethics.  According  to  the  former  the  motive  of  all 
action  is  to  secure  pleasure  or  avoid  pain.  So 
far  as  the  motive  is  concerned,  on  this  theory  there 
can  be  no  immoral  action  at  all.  That  the  agent 
should  not  be  moved  by  pleasure,  and  by  v^hat,  at 
the  time  of  acting,  is  the  greatest  pleasure  pos- 
sible, would  be  a  psychological  impossibility. 
Every  motive  would  be  good,  or  rather  there  would 
be  no  distinction  of  good  or  bad  pertaining  to  the 
motive.  The  character  of  the  agent,  as  measured 
by  his  motives,  could  never,  under  such  circum- 
stances, have  any  moral  quality. 

To  the  consequences  of  action,  or  the  conduct 
proper,  however,  the  terms  good  and  bad  might  be 
applied.  Although  the  agent  is  moved  by  pleasura- 
ble feelings,  the  result  of  his  action  may  be  painful 
and  thus  bad.  In  a  word,  on  the  hedonistic  theory, 
it  is  only  the  external  consequences  of  conduct,  or 
conduct  divorced  from  character,  to  which  moral 
adjectives  have  any  application.  Such  a  separation 
not  only  contradicts  our  experience  (see  VIII),  but 
inverts  the  true  order  of  moral  judgment.  Con- 
sequences do  not  enter  into  the  moral  estimate  at 
all,  except  so  far  as,  being  foreseen,  they  are  the 
act  in  idea.  That  is,  it  is  only  as  the  consequences 
are  taken  up  into  the  motive,  and  thus  related  to 

character,  that  they  are  subject  to  moral  judgment. 
3 


34 

Indeed,  except  so  far  as  action  expresses  character, 
it  is  not  conduct,  but  mere  physical  sequence,  as 
irrelevant  to  morality  as  the  change  in  blood  distri- 
bution, which  also  is  the  '  result '  of  an  action. 
Hedonism  has  to  rule  out  at  the  start  the  only 
thing  that  gives  totality  to  action — the  character  of 
the  agent,  or  conduct  as  the  outcome  of  motives. 
Furthermore,  the  ordinary  judgment  of  men,  instead 
of  saying  that  the  sole  moral  motive  is  to  get  pleasure, 
would  say  that  to  reduce  everything  to  means  for 
getting  pleasure  is  the  very  essence  of  immorality. 

On  the  point  above,  compare  Bentham,  Op.  cit.,  I, 
p.  48.  "  A  motive  is  substantially  nothing  more  than 
pleasure  or  pain  operating  in  a  certain  manner.  Isow 
pleasure  is  in  itself  a  good:  nay,  even,  setting  aside 
immunity  from  pain,  the  only  good;  pain  is  in  itself 
an  evil,  and,  indeed,  without  exception,  the  only  evil; 
or  else  the  words  good  and  evil  have  no  meaning.  And 
this  is  alike  true  of  every  sort  of  pain  and  of  every 
sort  of  pleasure.  It  follows,  therefore,  immediately 
and  incontestably,  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  any 
sort  of  motive  that  is  in  itself  a  bad  one.  If  motives 
are  good  or  bad,  it  is  only  on  account  of  their  effects; 
good  on  account  of  their  tendency  to  produce  pleas- 
ure or  avert  pain;  bad  on  account  of  their  tendency  to 
produce  pain  or  avert  pleasure.  Now  the  case  is,  that 
from  one  and  the  same  motive,  and  from  every  kind 
of  motive,  may  proceed  actions  that  are  good,  others 
that  are  bad  and  others  that  are  indifferent."  Further, 
on  p.  60,  Bentham  asks:  "Is  there  nothing,  then, 
about  a  man  that  can  properly  be  termed  good  or  bad, 
when  on  such  or  such  an  occasion  he  suffers  himself 
to  be  governed  by  such  or  such  a  motive  ?     Yes,  cer- 


35 


tainly,  his  disposition.  Now  disposition  is  a  kind  of 
fictitious  entity,  feigned  for  the  convenience  of  dis- 
course, in  order  to  express  what  there  is  supposed  to 
he  permanent  m  2i  man's  frame  of  mind.  It  is  with 
disposition  as  with  everything  else;  it  will  be  good  or 
bad  according  to  its  effects."  The  first  quotation,  it 
will  be  noticed,  simply  states  that  the  motive  is  in 
itself  always  good,  while  conduct  {i,  e.,  consequences) 
may  be  good,  bad  or  indifferent.  The  second  quotation 
seems,  however,  to  pass  moral  judgment  upon  charac- 
ter under  the  name  of  disposition.  But  disposition  is 
judged  according  to  the  tendency  of  a  person's  actions. 
A  good  or  bad  disposition,  here,  can  mean  nothing 
intrinsic  to  the  person,  but  only  that  the  person  has 
been  observed  to  act  in  ways  that  usually  produce  pain 
or  pleasure,  as  the  case  may  be.  The  term  is  a 
*  fiction',  and  is  a  backhanded  way  of  expressing  a 
somewhat  habitual  result  of  a  given  person's  conduct 
his  motive  remaining  good  (or  for  pleasure)  all  the 
time.  The  agent  would  never  pronounce  any  such  judg- 
ment upon  his  own  disposition,  unless  as  a  sort  of 
suprise  that,  his  motive  being  'good,'  his  actions  turn 
out  so  *  bad '  all  the  time.  At  most,  the  judgment 
regarding  disposition  is  a  sort  of  label  put  upon  a  man 
by  others,  a  label  of  "Look  out  for  him,  he  is  dan- 
gerous," or,  "  Behold,  a  helpful  man." 

The  moral  standard  of  hedonism  does  not,  then, 
bear  any  relation  to  the  character  of  the  agent,  does 
not  enable  us  to  judge  it,  either  as  a  whole  or  in 
any  specific  manifestation. 

XVIII. 

It  Does   Not  Give  a       Pleasure,   as   the    end, 

Criterion  for  fails  also  to  throw  light 

Concrete    Acts.        on   the    moral    value    of 

any  specific  acts.     Its  failure  in  this  respect  is, 


36 


indeed,  only  the  other  side  of  that  just  spoken 
of.  There  is  no  organizing  principle,  no  '  univer- 
sal '  on  the  basis  of  which  various  acts  fall  into  a 
system  or  order.  The  moral  life  is  left  a  series  of 
shreds  and  patches,  where  each  act  is  torn  off,  as 
to  its  moral  value,  from  every  other.  Each  act  is 
right  or  wrong,  according  as  it  gives  pleasure  or  pain, 
and  independently  of  any  whole  of  life.  There 
is,  indeed,  no  whole  of  moral  life  at  all,  but  only  a 
series  of  isolated,  disconnected  acts.  Possession, 
passivity,  inere  feeling,  by  its  very  nature  cannot 
unite — each  feeling  is  itself  and  that  is  the  end  of 
it.  It  is  action  which  reduces  multiplicity  to  unity. 
We  cannot  say,  in  the  hedonistic  theory,  that  pleas- 
ure is  the  end,  but  pleasures. 

Each  act  stands  by  itself — the  only  question  is: 
"What  pleasure  will  it  give  f  The  settling  of  this 
question  is  the  "hedonistic  calculus."  We  must 
discover  the  intensity,  duration,  certainty,  degree 
of  nearness  of  the  pleasure  likely  to  arise  from  the 
given  act,  and  also  its  purity,  or  likelihood  of  being 
accompanied  by  secondary  pains  and  pleasures. 
Then  we  are  to  strike  the  balance  between  the 
respective  sums  on  the  pleasure  and  pain  sides,  and, 
according  as  this  balance  is  one  of  pleasure  or  pain, 
the  act  is  good  or  evil. 

Bentham,  Op.  cit.,  p,  16,  was  the  first  to  go  into 
detail  as  to  this  method.     He  has  also  given  certain 


memoriter  verses  stating  "the  points  on  which  the 

whole  fabric  of  morals  and  legislation  may  be  seen  to 

rest. 

Intense,  long,  certain,  speedy,  fruitful,  pure. 

Such  marks  in  pleasures  and  in  pains  endure, 

Such  pleasures  seek,  if  private  be  thy  end. 

If  it  be  public,  wide  let  them  extend. 

Such  pains  avoid  whichever  be  thy  vievr. 

If  pains  must  come,  let  them  extend  to  fevr." 

This,  however,  in  its  reference  to  others,  states  the 

utilitarian  as  well  as  the  hedonistic  vir^w. 

Now,  it  must  be  remembered  that,  if  pleasure 
is  the  end,  there  is  no  intrinsic  connection  between 
the  motive  of  th6  act,  and  its  result.  It  is  not 
claimed  that  there  is  anything  belonging  intrins- 
ically to  the  motive  of  the  act  which  makes  it  result 
in  pleasure  or  pain.  To  make  such  a  claim  would 
be  to  declare  the  moral  quality  of  the  act  the  cri- 
terion of  the  pleasure,  instead  of  pleasure  the 
criterion  of  the  act.  The  pleasures  are  external  to 
the  act;  they  are  irrelevant  and  accidental  to  its 
quality.  There  is  no  '  universal,'  no  intrinsic  bond 
of  connection  between  the  act  and  its  consequences. 
The  consequence  is  a  mere  particular  state  of  feel- 
ing, which,  in  this  instance,  the  act  has  happened 
to  bring  about. 

More  concretely,  this  act  of  truth-telling  has  in 
this  instance,  brought  about  pleasure.  Shall  we 
call  it  right?  Right  in  this  instance,  of  course; 
but  is  it  right  generally  ?     Is  truth-telling,  as  such, 


38 


right,  or  is  it  merely  that  this  instance  of  it  hap- 
pens to  be  right?  Evidently,  on  the  hedonistic 
basis,  we  cannot  get  beyond  the  latter  judgment. 
Prior  to  any  act,  there  will  be  plenty  of  difficulties 
in  telling  whether  it,  s.^ particular,  is  right  or  wrong. 
The  consequences  depend  not  merely  on  the  result 
intended,  but  upon  a  multitude  of  circumstances 
outside  of  the  foresight  and  control  of  the  agent. 
And  there  can  be  only  a  precarious  calculation  of 
possibilities  and  probabilities  —  a  method  which 
would  always  favor  laxity  of  conduct  in  all  but  the 
the  most  conscientious  of  men,  and  which  would 
throw  the  conscientious  into  uncertainty  and  per- 
plexity in  the  degree  of  their  conscientiousness. 

"If  once  the  pleas  of  instinct  are  to  be  abolished 
and  replaced  by  a  hedonistic  arithmetic,  the  whole 
realm  of  animated  nature  h^  to  be  reckoned  with  in 
weaving  the  tissue  of  moral  relations,  and  the  problem 
becomes  infinite  and  insoluble  ".—Martineau,  Op.  cit.. 
Vol.  II,  p.  334. 

But  waive  this ;  let  the  particular  case  be  settled. 
There  is  still  no  law,  no  principle,  indeed  no  presump- 
tion as  to  future  conduct.  The  act  is  not  right  he- 
cause  it  is  truth-telling,  hnt  because,  in  this  instance, 
cicumstances  were  such  as  to  throw  a  balance  of 
pleasure  in  its  favor.  This  establishes  no  certainty, 
no  probability  as  to  its  next  outcome.  The  result 
then  will  depend  wholly  upon  circumstances  exist- 
ing then — circumstances   which  have  no  intrinsic 


39 


relation  to  the  act  and  which  must  change  from 
time  to  time. 

The  hedonist  would  escape  this  abolition  of  all 
principle,  or  even  rule,  by  falling  back  upon  -a 
number  of  cases — 'past  experience'  it  is  called. 
We  have  found  in  a  number  of  cases  that  a  certain 
procedure  has  resulted  in  pleasure,  and  this  result 
is  sufficient  to  guide  us  in  a  vast  number  of  cases 
which  confe  up. 

Says  Mill  (Op.  cit.,  pp.  332-4):  "During  the  whole 
past  duration  of  the  species,  mankind  have  been  learn- 
ing by  experience  the  tendencies  of  actions,  on  which 
experience  all  the  prudence  as  well  as  all  the  morality 

of  life  are  dependent Mankind  must  by  this 

time  have  acquired  positive  belief  as  to  the  effects  of 
some  actions  on  theirhappiness;  and  the  beliefs  which 
have  thus  come  down  are  the  rules  of  morality  for  the 
multitude,  and  for  the  philosopher,  until  he  has  suc- 
ceeded in  finding  betted.  ....  Nobody  argues  that 
the  art  of  navigation  is  not  founded  on  astronomy, 
because  sailors  cannot  wait'to  calculate  the  'Nautical 
Almanac'.  Being  rational  creatures,  they  go  to  sea 
with  it  ready  calculated;  and  all  rational  creatures  go 
out  upon  the  sea  of  life  with  their  minds  made  up  on 
the  common  questions  of  right  and  wrong,  as  well  as 
on  manvof  the  far  more  difficult  questions  of  wise  and 
foolish." 

That  we  do  learn  from  experience  the  moral 
nature  of  actions  is  undoubted.  The  only  ques- 
tion is :  if  hedonism  were  true,  could  we  so  learn  ? 
Suppose  that  I  were  convinced  that  the  results  of 
murder  in  the  past  had   been  generally,  or  even 


40 

without  exception  (though  this  could  not  be  proved), 
painful;  as  long  as  the  act  and  the  result  in  the 
way  of  feeling  (pain  or  pleasure)  are  conceived  as 
having  no  intrinsic  connection,  this  would  not  prove 
that  in  the  present  instance  murder  will  give  a  sur- 
plus of  pain.  I  am  not  thinking  of  committing  mur- 
der in  general,  but  of  murder  under  certain  specific 
present  circumstances.  These  circumstances  may, 
and,  to  some  extent,  must  vary  from  all  previous  in- 
stances of  murder.  How  then  can  I  reason  from 
them  to  it?  Or,  rather,  let  me  use  the  previous 
cases  as  much  as  I  may,  the  moral  quality  of  the 
act  I  am  now  to  perform  must  still  be  judged  not 
from  them,  but  from  the  circumstances  of  the  pres- 
ent case.  To  judge  otherwise,  is,  on  hedonistic 
principles,  to  be  careless,  perhaps  criminally  care- 
less as  to  one's  conduct.  The  more  convinced  a  man 
is  of  the  truth  of  hedonism  and  the  more  conscien- 
tious he  is,  the  more  he  is  bound  not  to  be  guided 
by  previous  circumstances,  but  to  form  his  judg- 
ment anew  concerning  the  new  case.  This  result 
flows  out  of  the  very  nature  of  the  hedonistic  ideal. 
Pleasure  is  not  an  activity,  but  simply  a  particular 
feeling,  enduring  only  while  it  is  felt.  Moreover, 
there  is  in  it  no  principle  which  connects  it  intrin- 
sically with  any  kind  of  action.  To  suppose  then 
that,  because  ninety- nine  cases  of  murder  have  re- 
sulted in  pain,  the  hundredth  will,  is  on  a  par  with 


41 


reasoning  that  because  ninety-nine  days  have  been 
frosty,  the  hundredth  will  be.  Each  case,  taken  as 
particular,  must  be  decided  wholly  by  itself.  There 
is  no  continuous  moral  life,  and  no  system  of  con- 
duct.    There  is  only  a  succession  of  unlike  acts. 

Mill,  in  his  examiDation  of  AVhe well,  (Diss,  and  Diss., 
Vol.  Ill,  pp.  158-59),tries  to  establish  a  general  principle, 
if  not  a  universal  law,  by  arguing  that,  even  in  excep- 
tional cases,  the  agent  is  bound  to  respect  the  rule, 
because  to  act  otherwise  vrould  weaken  the  rule,  and 
thus  lead  to  its  beii^g  disregarded  in  other  cases,  in 
which  its  observance  results  in  pleasure.  There  are, 
he  says,  persons  so  wicked  that  their  removal  from  the 
earth  would  undoubtedly  increase  the  sum  total  of 
happiness.  But  if  persons  were  to  violate  the  general 
rule  in  these  cases,  it  would  tend  to  destroy  the  rule. 
"If  it  were  thought  allowable  for  any  one  to  put  to 
death  at  pleasure  any  human  being  whom  he  believes 
that  the  world  would  be  well  rid  of,— nobody's  life 
would  be  safe.''  That  is  to  say,  if  every  one  were 
really  to  act  upon  and  carry  out  the  hedonistic  princi- 
ple, no  rule  of  life  would  exist.  This  does  very  well 
as  a  reductio  ad  ahsurdum  of  hedonism,  or  as  an  argu- 
ment against  adopting  hedonism,  but  it  is  difficult  to 
see  how  Mill  thought  that  it  established  a  '  rule '  on  a 
hedonistic  basis.  Mill's  argument  comes  to  saying 
that  if  hedonism  were  uniformly  acted  upon,  it  would 
defeat  itself— that  is,  pleasure  would  not  result.  There- 
fore, in  order  to  get  pleasure,  we  must  not  act  upon  the 
principle  of  hedonism  at  all,  but  follow  a  general  rule. 
Otherwise  put:  hedonism  gives  no  general  rule,  but 
we  must  have  a  general  rule  to  make  hedonism  works 
and  therefore  there  is  a  general  rule !  This  begging  of 
the  question  comes  out  even  more  plainly  as  Mill  goes 


42 


on:  "If  one  person  may  break  through  the  rule  on  his 
own  judgment,  the  same  liberty  cannot  be  refused  to 
others;  and,  since  no  one  could  rely  on  the  rule's 
being  observed,  the  rule  would  cease  to  exist."  All  of 
this  is  obviously  true,  but  it  amounts  to  saying:  "  We 
must  have  a  rule,  and  this  we  would  not  have  if  we 
carried  out  the  hedonistic  principle  in  each  case;  there- 
fore, we  must  not  carry  it  out."  A  principle,  that  car- 
ried out  destroj^s  all  rules  which  pretend  to  rest  upon 
it,  lays  itself  open  to  suspicion.  Mill  assumes  the  en- 
tire question  in  assuming  that  there  is  a  rule.  Grant 
this,  and  the  necessity  of  not  'making  exceptions,' 
that  is,  of  not  applying  the  hedonistic  standard  to 
each  case,  on  its  own  merits,  follows.  But  the  argu- 
ment which  Mill  needs  to  meet  is  that  hedonism 
requires  us  to  apply  the  standard  to  each  case  in  itself, 
and  that,  therefore,  there  is  no  rule.  Mill  simply  says 
—assume  the  rule,  and  it  follows,  etc. 

See  Bradley,  Op.  cit.,  pp.  96-101;  Green,  Bk.  TV,  Ch. 
3;  Martineau,  Vol.  II,  pp.  329-334. 

XIX. 

The  Sum       We  have  been  dealing  with  hedon- 
andthe       ism  in   its   strict    form — that  which 
Quality       makes  a  pleasure,  considered   as   to 
of  its  intensity,  certainty,  etc.,  the  end 

Pleasure  of  an  act.  Hedonism  in  this  form 
as  the  fails  to  unify  life,  and  fails,  there- 
Standard,  fore,  to  supply  any  standard.  But 
the  end  of  conduct  is  often  stated  to  be  the  greatest 
possible  sum  of  pleasnres,  thus  introducing  a  cer- 
tain element  of  generality.  Mill  goes  further  and 
brings  in  the  idea  of  quality  of  pleasure. 


43 


Regarding  the  sum  of  pleasures  the  following  from 
Sidgwick  (Op.  cit.  p.  382;  see  also  p.  114)  gives  the 
hedonistic  statement.  "The  assumption  is  involved 
that  all  pleasures  are  capable  of  being  compared  quali- 
tatively with  one  another  and  with  all  pains;  that 
every  feeling  has  a  certain  intensive  quality,  positive 
or  negative  (or  perhaps  zero)  in  respect  to  its  desira- 
bleness and  that  the  quantity  may  be  known,  so  that 
each  may  be  w^eighed  in  ethical  scales  against  any 
other.  This  assumption  is  involved  in  the  very  motion 
of  maximum  happiness,"  as  the  attempt  to  make  "  as 
great  as  possible  a  sum  of  elements  not  quantitatively 
commensurable  would  be  a  mathematical  absurdity." 

I.  Sum  of  pleasures  as  the  moral  end.  This, 
first,  taken  as  criterion,  comes  into  conflict  with  the, 
hedonistic  psychology  of  pleasure  as  the  motive  of 
acts;  and,  secondly,  it  requires  some  objective 
standard  by  means  of  which  pleasure  is  to  be 
summed,  and  is,  in  so  far,  a  surrender  of  the  whole 
hedonistic  position. 

1.  If  the  object  of  desire  is  pleasure  or  a  state 
of  feeling  which  exists  only  as  it  is  felt,  it  is  im- 
possible that  we  should  desire  a  greatest  sum  of 
pleasures.  We  can  desire  a  pleasure  and  that  only. 
It  is  not  even  possible  that  we  should  ever  desire  a 
continuous  series  of  pleasures.  We  can  desire  one 
pleasure  and  when  that  is  gone,  another,  but  we  can 
not  unify  our  desires  enough  to  aim  at  even  a  sum 
of  pleasures. 

This  is  well  put  by  Green  (Op.  cit.  p.  236).  "  For 
the  feeling  of  a  pleased  person,  or  in  relation  to  his- 


44 


sense  of  enjoyment,  pleasure  cannot  form  a  sum.  How- 
ever numerous  the  sources  of  a  state  of  pleasant  feel- 
ing", it  is  one  and  is  over  before  another  can  be 
enjoyed.  It  and  its  successors  can  V)e  added  together 
in  thought,  but  not  in  enjoyment  or  in  imagination  of 
an  enjoyment.  If  the  desire  is  only  for  pleasure,  i.  e., 
for  an  enjoyment  or  feeling  of  pleasure,  we  are  sim- 
ply victims  of  words  when  we  talk  of  desire  for  a  sum 
of  pleasures,  much  more  when  we  take  the  greatest 
imaginable  sum  to  be  the  most  desirable."  See  the 
whole  passage,  pp.  235-246. 

2.  But  the  phrase  "sum  of  pleasures''  undoubt- 
edly has  a  meaning — though  the  fact  that  it  has  a 
meaning  shows  the  untruth  of  the  hedonistic  psy- 
chology. Surrendering  this  psychology,  what  shall 
we  say  of  the  maximum  possibility  of  pleasure  as 
the  criterion  of  the  morality  of  acts  ?  It  must  be  con- 
ceded that  this  conception  does  afford  some  basis — 
although  a  rather  slippery  one — for  the  unification 
of  conduct.  Each  act  is  considered  now  not  in  its 
isolation  merely,  but  in  its  connection  with  other 
acts,  according  as  its  relation  to  them  may  increase 
or  decrease  the  possible  sum  of  future  happiness. 
But  this  very  fact  that  some  universal,  or  element  of 
relation,  albeit  a  quantitative  one,  has  been  intro- 
duced, arouses  this  inquiry:  Whence  do  we  derive 
it  ?  JIow  do  we  get  the  thought  of  a  sum  of  pleasure, 
and  of  a  maximum  sum?  Only  by  taking  into 
account  the  objective  conditions  upon  which  pleas- 
ures depend^  and  by  judging  the  pleasures  from  the 


45 

standpoint  of  these  objective  conditions.  When 
we  imagine  we  are  thinking  of  a  sum  of  pleasures, 
we  are  really  thinking  of  that  totality  of  conditions 
which  will  come  nearest  affording  ns  self-satisfac- 
tion— we  are  thinking  of  a  comprehensive  and  con- 
tinuous activity  whose  various  parts  are  adjusted  to 
one  another.  Because  it  is  complete  activity,  it  is 
necessarily  conceived  as  giving  the  greatest  possible 
pleasure,  but  apart  from  reference  to  complete 
activity  and  apart  from  the  objects  in  which  this  is 
realized,  the  phrase  '  greatest  sum  of  happiness '  is 
a  mere  phrase.  Pleasures  must  be  measured  by  a 
standard,  by  a  yard  stick,  before  they  can  be  sum- 
med in  thought,  and  the  yard  stick  we  use  is  the 
activity  in  which  the  pleasure  comes.  We  do  not 
measure  conduct  by  pleasure,  but  we  compare  and 
sum  up  pleasures  on  the  basis  of  the  objects  which 
occasion  them.  To  add  feelings,  mere  transitory 
consequences,  without  first  reducing  those  feelings 
to  a  common  denominator  by  their  relation  to  one 
objective  standard,  is  an  impossibility.  Pleasure  is 
a  sort  of  sign  or  symbol  of  the  object  which  satis- 
fies, and  we  may  carry  on  our  judgment,  if  we  will, 
in  terms  of  the  sign,without  reference  to  the  stand- 
ard, but  to  argue  as  if  the  sign  were  the  thing,  as 
if  the  sum  of  pleasure  were  the  activity,  is  suicidal. 

Thus  Green  says  (Op.  cit.,  p.  244):    "In  truth  a 
man's  reference  to  his  own  true  happiness  is  a  refer-^ 


46 


ence  to  the  objects  which  chiefly  interest  him,  and  has 
its  controlling  power  on  that  account.  More  strictly, 
it  is  a  reference  to  an  ideal  state  of  well-being,  a  state 
in  which  he  shall  be  satisfied;  but  the  objects  of  the 
marl's  chief  interests  supply  the  flUing  of  that  ideal 
state."  See  the  argument  as  put  by  Alexander  (Moral 
Order  and  Progress,  pp.  199-200).  Alexander  has  also 
brought  out  (Ibid,  pp.  207-210)  that  even  if  we  are 
going  to  use  a  quantitative  standard,  the  idea  of  a 
sum  is  not  a  very  happy  one.  It  is  not  so  much  a  sum 
of  pleasures  we  want,  as  a  certain  proportionate  dis- 
tribution and  combination  of  pleasures.  "  To  regard 
the  greatest  sum  of  pleasures  as  the  test  of  conduct, 
supposing  that  we  could  express  it  in  units  of  pleas- 
ure, would  be  like  declaring  that  when  you  had  an 
atomic  weight  of  98  you  had  sulphuric  acid.  The 
numerical  test  would  be  useless  unless  we  knew  what 
elements  were  to  be  combined,  and  in  Avhat  pro- 
portion. Similarly  till  we  know  what  kinds  of 
activities  (and  therefore  what  kinds  of  pleasures) 
go  with  one  another  to  form  the  end,  the  greatest  sum 
of  pleasures  will  give  us  only  the  equivalent  of  the 
end,  but  will  not  tell  us  w^hat  the  composition  of  the 
end  is,  still  less  how  to  get  at  it;  or,  to  put  the  matter 
more  simply,  when  we  know  what  the  characters  of 
persons  are,  and  how  they  are  combined  in  morality, 
we  then  estimate  the  corresponding  sum  of  pleasures." 
(p.  209.) 

II.  A  certain  quality  of  pleasure  the  end. 
Some  moralists,  notably  John  Stuart  Mill,  introduce 
considerations  regarding  the  quality  of  pleasure  into 
the  conception  of  the  end.  "It  is  quite  com- 
patible," says  Mill,  "  with  the  principle  of  utility  to 
recognize   the   fact   that  some   kinds   of   pleasure 


47 


are  more  desirable  and  more  valuable  than  others." 
(p.  310.)  Is  it  compatible?  Is  kind  of  pleasure 
the  same  thing  as  pleasure?  does  not  strict  hedon- 
ism demand  that  all  kinds  of  pleasure  equally  pre- 
sent as  to  intensity  in  consciousness  shall  be  of 
the  same  value  ?  To  say  otherwise  is  to  give  up 
pleasure  as  such  as  the  standard  and  to  hold  that 
we  have  means  for  discriminating  the  respective 
values  of  pleasures  which  simply,  as  feelings,  are 
the  same.  It  is  to  hold,  that  is  to  say,  that  there  is 
some  standard  of  value  external  to  the  pleasures  as 
such,  by  means  of  which  their  moral  quality  may 
be  judged.  In  this  case,  this  independent  standard 
is  the  real  moral  criterion  which  we  are  employing. 
Hedonism  is  surrendered. 

Kant's  position  on  this  point  seems  impregnable. 
" It  is  surprising," he  says,"  that  men  otherwise  astute 
can  think  it  possible  to  distinguish  between  higher 
and  lower  desires,  according  as  the  ideas  which  are 
connected  with  the  feeling  of  pleasure  have  their  ori- 
gin in  the  senses  or  in  the  understanding;  for  when 
we  inquire  what  are  the  determining  grounds  of  desire, 
and  place  them  in  some  expected  pleasantness,  it  is  of 
no  consequence  whence  the    idea  of    this    pleasing 

object  is  derived,  but  only  how  much  it  pleases 

The  only  thing  that  concerns  one,  in  order  to  decide 
choice,  is  how  great,  how  long  continued,  how  easily 
obtained  and  how  often  repeated,  this  agreableness  is 
For  as  to  the  man  who  wants  money  to  spend,  it  is  all 
the  same  whether  the  gold  was  dug  out  of  the  moun- 
tain or  washed  out  of  the  sand,  provided  it  is  every- 


48 


where  accepted  at  the  same  value;  so  the  man  who 
cares  only  for  the  enjoyment  of  life  does  not  ask 
whether  the  ideas  are  of  the  understanding  or  the 
senses,  but  only  how  much  and  how  great  pleasure 
they  will  give  for  the  longest  time." 
See  also  Bradley,  Op.  cit,,  pp.  105-110. 

When  we  ask  how  the  diflFerences  in  quality  are 
established  and  how  we  translate  this  qualitative 
difference  into  moral  difference,  the  surrender  of 
pleasure  as  the  standard  becomes  even  more  evi- 
dent. We  must  know  not  only  the  fact  of  different 
qualities,  but  how  to  decide  which  is  '  higher  '  than 
any  other.  We  must  bring  the  qualities  before  a 
tribunal  of  judgment  which  applies  to  them  some 
standard  of  measurement.  In  themselves  qualities 
may  be  different,  but  they  are  not  higher  and  lower. 
What  is  the  tribunal  and  what  is  the  law  of  judg- 
ment? According  to  Mill  the  tribunal  is  the  pref- 
erence of  those  who  are  acquainted  with  both  kinds 
of  pleasure. 

"  Of  two  pleasures,  if  there  be  one  to  which  all.  or 
almost  all  who  have  experience  of  both,  give  a  decided 
preference,  irrespective  of  any  feellDo-  of  moral  obli- 
gation to  prefer  it,  that  is  the  more  desirable 
pleasure."  It  is  an  unquestionable  fact  that  such 
difierences  exist.  "  Few  liuinan  creatures  would  con- 
sent to  be  changed  into  any  of  the  lower  animals  for  a 
promise  of  the  fviilest  allowance  of  a  beast's  pleasures. 
No  intelligent  person  would  consent  to  be  a  fool;  no 
instructed  person  would  be  an  ignoramus;  no  person 
of  feeling  and  conscience  would  be  selfish  and  base. 


49 


even  though  they  should  be  persuaded  that  the  fool, 
the  dunce  or  the  rascal  is  better  satisfied  with  his  lot 

than  they  are  with  theirs It  is  better  to  be  a 

human  being  dissatisfied,  than  a  pig  satisfied;  better 
to  be  a  Socrates  dissatisfied,  than  a  fool  satisfied.  And 
if  the  fool  or  the  pig  are  of  a  different  opinion,  it  is 
because  they  only  know  their  own  side  of  the  ques- 
tion. The  other  party  to  the  comparison  knows  both 
sides."— Mill,  Op.  cit.,  pp.  311-313.  And  in  an  omitted 
portion  Mill  says  the  reason  that  one  of  the  higher 
faculty  would  prefer  a  suffering  which  goes  along 
with  that  higher  capacity,  to  more  pleasure  on  a  lower 
plane,  is  somethicg  of  which  "the  most  appropriate 
appellation  is  a  sense  of  dignity,  which  all  human 
beings  possess  in  one  form  or  another." 

A  question  immediately  arises  regarding  this 
standard  of  preferability.  Is  it  the  mere  historical 
fact  that  some  man,  who  has  experienced  both,  pre- 
. fers  A  to  B  that  makes  A  more  desirable?  Surely 
I  might  say  that  if  that  person  prefers  A,  A  is  more 
desirable  to  him,  but  that  I  for  my  part  prefer  B, 
and  that  I  do  not  intend  to  give  up  my  preference. 
And  why  should  I,  even  though  thousands  of  other 
men  happened  to  prefer  A?  B  is  the  greater 
pleasure,  none  the  less,  to  me,  and  as  a  hedonist  I 
must  cling  to  the  only  standard  that  I  have.  The 
hedonists,  in  a  word,  have  appealed  to  feeling,  and 
to  feeling  they  must  go  for  judgment.  And  feeling 
exists  only  as  it  is  felt  and  only  to  him  who  feels  it. 

On  the  other  hand,  perhaps  it  is  not  the  bare 

act  that  some  men  prefer  one  pleasure  to  pother 
4 


50 

that  makes  it  more  desirable,  but  something  in  the 
character  of  the  men  who  prefer.  And  this  is 
what  Mill  implies.  It  is  a  "  sense  of  dignity " 
belonging  to  man  which  makes  his  judgment  of 
pleasure  better  than  that  of  animals;  it  is  the 
human  being  against  the  pig,  Socrates  against  the 
fool,  the  good  man  against  the  rascal.  This  is  the 
complete  surrender  of  hedonism,  and  the  all  but 
explicit  assertion  that  human  character,  goodness, 
wisdom,  are  the  criteria  of  pleasure,  instead  of 
pleasure  the  criterion  of  character  and  goodness. 
Mill's  "sense  of  dignity,"  which  is  to  be  consid- 
ered in  all  estimates  of  pleasures,  is  just  the  sense 
,  of  a  moral  (or  active)  capacity  and  destiny  belong- 
ing to  man.  To  refer  pleasures  to  this  is  to  make 
it  the  standard,  and  with  this  standard  the  anti- 
hedonist  may  well  be  content,  while  asking,  how- 
ever, for  its  further  analysis. 

To  sum  up  our  long  discussion  of  pleasure  as  a 
criterion  of  conduct  in  respect  of  its  unity,  we  may 
say:  Pleasure,  as  it  actually  exists  in  man,  maybe 
taken  as  a  criterion,  although  not  the  really  primary 
one,  of  action.  But  this  is  not  hedonism;  for 
pleasure  as  it  exists  is  something  more  than  pleas- 
urable feeling;  it  is  qualified  through  and  through 
by  the  kind  of  action  which  it  accompanies,  by  the 
kind  of  objects  which  the  activity  comprehends. 
And  thus  it  is  always  a  secondary  criterion.     The 


51 


moment  we  begin  to  analyze  we  must  ask  what 
kind  of  activity,  what  kind  of  object  it  is  which 
the  pleasure  accompanies  and  of  which  it  is  a  sym- 
bol. We  may,  if  we  will,  calculate  a  man's 
wealth  in  terms  of  dollars  and  cents;  but  this  is 
only  because  we  can  translate  the  money,  the 
symbol,  into  goods,  the  reality.  To  desire  pleasure' 
instead  of  an  activity  of  self,  is  to  substitute 
symbol  for  fact,  and  a  symbol  cut  ofP  from  fact 
ceases  to  be  a  symbol.  Pleasure,  as  the  hedonist 
treats  it,  mere  agreeable  feeling  without  active  and 
thus  objective  relationships,  is  wholly  an  abstrac- 
tion. Since  an  abstraction,  to  make  it  the  end  of 
desire  results  in  self-contradiction;  while  to  make 
it  the  standard  of  conduct  is  to  deprive  life  of  all 
unity,  all  system,  in  a  word — of  all  standard. 

XX. 

The  Failure  of       Thus  far   our   examination  of 

Pleasure  as  a     the  hedonistic  criterion  has  been 

Standard        devoted  to  showing  that  it  will 

to  Unify  Con-     not  make  a  system  out  of  indivi- 

duct  Socially,     dual  conduct.     We  have  now  to 

recognize  the  fact  that  pleasure  is  not  a  common 

good,  and  therefore  fails  to  give  a  social  unity  to 

conduct — that  is,  it  does  not  offer  an  end  for  which 

men  may  cooperate,  or  a  good  which  reached  by 

one  must  be   shared  by  another.     No   argument  is 

needed  to   show,   theoretically,   that   any  proposed 


.  52 

moral  criterion  must,  in  order  to  be  valid,  harmon- 
ize the  interests  and  activities  of  difPerent  men,  or 
to  show,  practically,  that  the  whole  tendency  of  the 
modern  democratic  and  philanthropic  movement 
has  been  to  discover  and  realize  a  good  in  which 
men  shall  share  on  the  basis  of  an  equal  principle. 
It  is  contended  that  hedonism  fails  to  satisfy  these 
needs.  According  to  it,  the  end  for  each  man  is 
his  own  pleasure.  Pleasure  is  nothing  objective  in 
which  men  may  equally  participate.  It  is  purely 
individual  in  the  most  exclusive  sense  of  that  term. 
It  is  a  state  of  feeling  and  can  be  enjoyed  only 
while  felt,  and  only  by  the  one  who  feels  it.  To  set 
it  up  for  tho  ideal  of  conduct  is  to  turn  life  into  an 
exclusive  and  excluding  struggle  for  possession  of 
the  means  of  personal  enjoyment;  it  is  to  erect  into 
a  principle  the  idea  of  the  war  of  all  against  all. 
No  end  more  thoroughly  disintegrating  than  indi- 
-vidual  agreeable  sensation  could  well  be  imagined. 

Says  Kant,  (pa^e  116  of  Abbott's  Trans.,  entitled 
Kant's  Theory  of  Ethics)  on  the  basis  of  the  desire  of 
happiness  "  there  results  a  harmony  like  that  which  a 
certain  satirical  poem  depicts  as  existing  between  a 
married  couple  bent  on  going  to  ruin:  O,  marvellous 
harmony,  what  he  wishes,  she  wishes  also;  or  like 
what  is  said  of  the  pledge  of  Francis  I  to  the  emperor 
•Charles  V,  what  my  brother  Charles  wishes  that  I 
wish  also  {mz.,  Milan)." 

Almost  all  modern  moralists  who  take  pleas- 
ure  as  the   end   conceive  it   to  be  not  individual 


53 


pleasure,  but  the  happiness  of  all  men  or  even  of 
all  sentient  creatures.  Thus  we  are  brought  to  the 
consideration  of  Utilitarianism. 

Says  Mill  (Op.  cit.,  p.  323),  "  The  happiness  which 
forms  the  Utilitarian  standard  of  what  is  right  in  con- 
duct is  not  the  agent's  own  happiness,  but  that  of  all 
concerned;  as  between  his  own  happiness  and  that  of 
others,  Utilitarianism  requires  him  to  be  as  strictly- 
impartial  as  a  disinterested  and  benevolent  spectator." 
And  (page  315)  the  Utilitarian  standard  is  "  not  the 
agent's  own  greatest  happiness,  but  the  greatest 
amount  of  happiness  altogether."  See  also  Sidgwick 
(Op.  cit.,  p.  379),  "  By  Utilitarianism  is  here  meant 
the  ethical  theory,  first  distinctly  formulated  by  Ben- 
tham,  that  the  conduct  which,  under  any  given  cir- 
cumstances is  externally  or  objectively  right  is  that 
which  will  produce  the  greatest  amount  of  happiness 
on  the  whole;  that  is,  taking  into  account  all  whose 
happiness  is  affected  by  the  conduct.  It  would  tend  to 
clearness  if  we  might  call  this  principle,  and  the 
method  based  upon  it,  by  some  such  name  as  Uni- 
versalistic  hedonism."  As  popularly  put,  the  utilita- 
rian standard  is  the  "  greatest  happiness  of  the  great- 
est number."  While  in  its  calculation  "each  is  to 
count  for  one  and  only  one."  {Bentham).  And  finally 
Bain  (Emotions  and  Mill,  p.  303),  "  Utility  is  opposed 
to  the  selfish  theory,  for,  as  propounded,  it  always  im- 
plies the  good  of  society  generally,  and  the  subordina- 
tion of  individual  interests  to  the  general  good." 

XXI. 

Criticism   of        The   utilitarian  theory  certainly 

Utilitarian-     does  away  entirely  with  one  of  the 

ism.  two  main  objections  to  hedonism — 

its  failure  to   provide  a  general,  as  distinct  from  a 


54 


private  end.  The  question  which  we  have  to  meet, 
however,  is  whether  this  extension  of  the  end  from 
the  individual  to  society  is  consistent  with  the  fun- 
damental principles  of  hedonism.  Hoid  do  we  get 
from  individual  pleasure  to  the  happiness  of  all? 

An  intuitional  utilitarian,  like  Sidgwick,  has  ready 
an  answer  which  is  not  open  to  the  empirical  utilita- 
rians, like  Bentliam,  Mill  and  Bain,  Methods  of  Eth- 
ics, Bk.  Ill,  ch.  13-14,  p.  355.  "We  may  obtain  the 
self-evident  principle  that  the  good  of  any  one  individ- 
ual is  of  no  more  importance,  as  a  part  of  universal 
good,  than  the  good  of  any  other.  The  abstract  prin- 
ciple of  the  duty  of  benevolence,  sq  far  as  it  is  cogni- 
zable by  direct  intuition"  is,  "that  one  is  morally 
bound  to  regard  the  good  of  any  other  individual  as 
much  as  one's  own" — and  page  364,  ''the  principles, 
so  far  as  they  are  immediately  known  by  abstract  in- 
tuition, can  only  be  stated  as  precepts  to  seek  (1)  one's 
own  good  on  the  whole,  and  (2)  the  good  of  any  other 
no  less  than  one's  own,  in  so  far  as  it  is  no  less  an  ele- 
ment of  universal  good."  Sidgwick,  that  is,  differs  in 
two  important  points  from  most  utilitarians.  He 
holds  that  pleasure  is  not  the  sole,  or  even  the  usual 
object  of  desire.  And  he  holds  that  we  have  an  imme- 
diate faculty  of  rational  intuition  which  informs  us 
that  the  good  of  others  is  as  desirable  an  end  of  our 
conductas  is  our  own  happiness.  Our  former  arguments 
against  pleasure  as  the  end,  bear,  of  course,  equally 
against  this  theory,  but  not  the  following  arguments. 
Criticisms  of  this  position  of  Sidgwick's  will  be  found 
in  Green  (Op.  cit.,  pp.  406-415);  Bradley  (Op.  cit,,  pp. 
114-117). 

The  popular  answer  to  the  question  how  we  get 
from  individual  to  general  happiness,  misses  the 


55 


entire  point  of  the  question.  This  answer  simply 
says  that  happiness  is  ^intrinsically  desirable'. 
Let  it  be  so ;  but  '  happiness '  in  this  general  way  is 
a  mere  abstraction.  Happiness  is  always  a  partic- 
ular condition  of  one  particular  person.  Whose 
happiness  is  desirable  and  to  ivhom  f  Because  my 
happiness  is  intrinsically  desirable  to  me,  does  it 
follow  that  your  happiness  is  intrinsically  desirable 
to  me  ?  Indeed,  in  the  hedonistic  psychology,  is  it 
not  nonsense  to  say  that  a  state  of  your  feeding  is 
desirable  to  me?  Mill's  amplified  version  of  the 
popular  answer  brings  out  the  ambiguity  all  the 
more  plainly.  He  says  (Utilitarianism,  p.  349), 
"No  reason  can  be  given  why  the  general  happi- 
ness is  desirable,  except  that  each  person,  so  far  as 
he  believes  it  to  be  obtainable,  desires  his  own  hap- 
piness. This,  however,  being  a  fact,  we  have  not 
only  all  the  proof  which  the  case  admits  of,  but  all 
which  it  is  possible  to  require,  that  happiness  is  a 
good;  that  each  person's  happiness  is  a  good  to 
that  person;  and  the  general  happiness,  therefore, 
a  good  to  the  aggregate  of  all  persons."  But  does 
it  follow  that  because  the  happiness  of  A  is  an  end 
to  A,  the  happiness  of  B  an  end  to  B,  and  the 
happiness  of  C  an  end  to  C,  that,  therefore,  the 
happiness  of  B  and  C  is  an  end  to  A  ?  There  is 
obviously  no  connection  between  the  premises  and 
the  supposed  conclusion.    And  there  appears  to  be, 


■^  r 


rrr 


56 


as  Mill  puts  it,  only  an  account  of  the  ambiguity 
of  his  last  clause,  "  the  general  happiness  a  good 
to  the  aggregate  of  all  persons."  The  good  of  A 
and  B  and  C  may  be  a  good  to  the  aggregate 
(A  -}-  B  +  C),  but  what  universalistic  hedonism 
requires  is  that  the  aggregate  good  of  A  +  B  + 
C,  be  a  good  to  A  and  to  B  and  to  C  taken  separately 
— a  very  different  proposition.  Mill  is  guilty  of 
the  fallacy  known  logically  as  the  fallacy  of  divi- 
sion— arguing  from  a  collective  whole  to  the  dis- 
tributed units.  Because  all  men  want  to  be  happy, 
it  hardly  follows  that  every  man  wants  all  to  be 
happy.  There  is,  accordingly,  no  direct  road  from 
-individualistic  hedonism — private  pleasure — to  uni- 
versalistic—  general  pleasure.  Moreover,  if  we 
adopt  the  usual  psychology  of  hedonism  and  say 
that  pleasure  is  the  motive  of  acting,  it  is  abso- 
lutely absurd  to  say  that  general  pleasure  can  be  a 
motive.  How  can  I  be  moved  by  the  happiness 
which  exists  in  some  one  else  ?  I  may  feel  a  pleasure 
resembling  his,  and  be  moved  by  it,  but  that  is 
quite  a  different  matter. 

XXII. 

Indirect  Means  Is     there    any     indirect 

of  Identifying         method  of   going  from  the 

Private  and  pleasure     of     one    to     the 

General  Pleasure,    pleasure  of  all?    Upon  the 

whole,  the  utilitarians  do  not  claim  that  there  is  any 


57 

natural  and  immediate  connection  between  the 
desire  for  private  and  for  general  happiness,  but 
suppose  that  there  are  certain  means  which  are 
instrumental  in  bringing  about  an  identity.  Of 
these  means  the  sympathetic  emotions  and  the 
influence  of  law  and  of  education  are  the  chief. 
Each  of  these,  moreover,  cooperates  with  the  other. 

1.     Sympathetic  and  Social  Emotions. 

We  are  so  constituted  by  nature  that  we  take 
pleasure  in  the  happiness  of  others  and  feel 
pain  in  their  misery.  A  proper  regard  for  our 
own  welfare  must  lead  us,  therefore,  to  take  an 
interest  in  the  pleasure  of  others.  Our  own  feel- 
ings, moreover,  are  largely  influenced  by  the  feelings 
of  others  toward  us.  If  we  act  in  a  certain  way 
we  shall  incur  the  disapprobation  of  others,  and 
this,  independently  of  any  overt  punishment  it 
may  lead  them  to  inflict  upon  us,  arouses  feelings 
of  shame,  of  inferiority,  of  being  under  the  dis- 
pleasure of  others,  feelings  all  of  which  are  de- 
cidedly painful.  The  more  enlightened  our  judg- 
ment, the  more  we  see  how  our  pleasures  are  bound 
up  in  those  of  others. 

"  The  Dictates  of  Utility"  (Bentham,  Op.  cit.,  p.  56) 
are  neither  more  nor  less  than  the  dictates  of  the  most 
extensive  and  enlightened  (that  is,  well  advised)  benev- 
olence," and  (p.  18),  "  The  pleasures  of  benevolence  are 
the  pleasures  resulting  from  the  view  of  any  pleasures 
supposed  to  be  possessed  by  the  beings  who  may  be 


58 


the  objects  of  benev  jlence These  may  also  be 

called  the  pleasures  of  good  will,  the  pleasures  of  sym- 
pathy, or  the  pleasures  of  the  benevolent  or  social 
affections";  and  (p.  144),  "  What  motives  (independent 
of  such  as  legislation  and  relij^ion  may  choose  to  fur- 
nish) can  one  man  have  to  consult  the  happiness  of 
another?  ....  In  answer  to  this,  it  cannot  but  be 
admitted  that  the  only  interests  which  a  man  at  all 
times  and  upon  all  occasions  is  sure  to  find  adequate 
motives  for  consulting,  are  his  own.  Notwithstanding 
this,  there  are  no  occasions  in  which  a  man  has  not 
some  motives  for  consulting  the  happiness  of  other 
men.  In  the  first  place  he  has,  on  all  occasions,  the 
purely  social  motive  of  sympathy  and  benevolence; 
in  the  next  place  he  has,  on  most  occasions,  the  semi- 
social  motives  of  love  of  amity  and  love  of  reputa- 
tion." And  so  in  the  Deontology,  which,  however, 
was  not  published  by  Bentham  himself,  page  203, "  The 
more  enlightened  one  is,  the  more  one  forms  the 
habit  of  general  benevolence,  because  it  is  seen  that 
the  interests  of  men  combine  with  each  other  in  more 
points  than  they  conflict  in." 

2.     Education  and  Laic. 

Education,  working  directly  and  internally  upon 
the  feelings,  and  government, appealing  to  them  from 
without  through  commands  and  penalties,  are  con- 
stantly effecting  an  increasing  identity  of  self- 
interest  and  regard  for  others.  These  means 
supplement  the  action  of  sympathy  and  the  more 
instinctive  emotions.  They  stimulate  and  even 
induce  a  proper  interest  in  the  pleasures  of  others. 
In  governmental  law,  with  its  punishments,  we 
have  an  express  instrument  for  making  the  pleas- 


59 


ures  of  one  harmonize  with  (or  at  least  not  conflict 
with)  the  pleasures  of  others. 

Thus  Benthain,  after  statino:  that  an  enlightened 
mind  perceives  the  identity  of  st'lf-interest  and  that  of 
others  (or  of  egoism  and  altriiUm,  as  these  interests 
are  now  commonly  called),  goes  on  (Deontology,  p. 
201):  "  The  majority  do  not  have  sufficient  enlighten- 
ment, nor  enough  moral  feeling  so  that  their  character 
goes  beyond  the  aid  of  laws,  and  so  the  legislator 
should  supplement  the  frailty  of  this  natural  interest, 
in  adding  to  it  an  artificial  interest  more  appreciable 
and  more  continuous.  Thus  the  government  augments 
and  extends  the  connexion  which  exists  between  pru- 
dence and  benevolence."  Mill  says  (Op.  cit.,  p.  323): 
"  To  do  as  you  would  be  done  by,  and  to  love  your 
neighbor  as  yourself,  constitute  the  ideal  perfection  of 
utilitarian  morality.  As  the  means  of  making  the 
nearest  approach  to  this  ideal,  utility  would  enjoin, 
first,  that  laws  and  social  arrangements  should  place 
the  happiness  or  the  interest  of  every  individual  as 
nearly  as  possible  in  harmony  with  the  interest  of  the 
whole;  and,  secondly,  that  education  and  opinion, 
which  have  so  vast  a  power  over  human  character, 
should  so  use  that  power  as  to  establish  in  the  mind  of 
every  individual  an  indissoluble  association  between 
his  own  happiness  and  the  good  of  the  whole." 

XXIII. 
Private  Pleasures       In  criticism  of  these  Indi- 
an d  rect  methods  of  establishing 
General  Welfare,    the  identity  of  'egoism  ^  and 
*  altruism,'  it  may  be  said: 

1.  That  the  supposed  relation  between  the  pri- 
Tate  and  the  general  happiness  is  extrinsic,  and 


60 


hence  always  accidental  and  open  to  exception.. 
It  is  not  contended  that  there  is  any  order  which 
morally  demands  that  there  be  an  identity  of  in- 
terests. It  is  simply  argued  that  there  are  certain 
physical  and  psychological  forces  which  operate, 
as  matter  of  fact,  to  bring  about  such  a  result. 
Now  we  may  admit,  if  we  like,  that  such  forces 
exist  and  that  they  are  capable  of  accomplishing  all 
that  Bentham  and  Mill  claim  for  them.  But  all 
that  is  established  is,  at  most,  a  certain  state  of 
facts  which  is  interesting  as  a  state  of  facts,  but 
which  has  no  especial  moral  bearing.  It  is  not 
pretended  that  there  is  in  the  very  order  of  things 
any  necessary  and  intrinsic  connection  between  the 
happiness  of  one  and  of  another.  Such  identity 
as  exists,  therefore,  must  be  a  mere  external  result 
of  the  action  of  certain  forces.  It  is  accidental. 
This  being  the  case,  how  can  it  constitute  the  uni- 
versal ideal  of  action?  Why  is  it  not  open  for  an 
agent,  under  exceptional  circumstances,  to  act  for 
his  own  pleasure,  to  the  exclusion  of  that  of  others? 
We  may  admit  that,  upon  the  whole  (or  that 
always,  though  this  is  wholly  impossible  to  prove) 
in  past  experience,  personal  pleasure  has  been  best 
attained  by  a  certain  regard  for  the  pleasures  of 
others;  but  the  connection  being  wholly  empirical 
(that  is,  of  past  instances  and  not  of  an  intrinsic 
law),  we  may  ask  how  it  can  be  claimed  that  the 


61 


same  connection  is  certain  to  hold  in  this  new  case  ? 
Nor  is  it  probable  that  any  one  would  claim  that 
the  connection  between  individual  pleasure  and 
general  pleasure  had  been  so  universal  and  inva- 
riable in  past  experience. 

Intrinsic  moral  considerations  (that  is,  those 
based  on  the  very  nature  of  human  action)  being 
put  aside,  a  pretty  strong  case  could  be  made 
out  for  the  statement  that  individual  happiness  is 
best  attained  by  ignoring  the  happiness  of  others. 
Probably  the  most  that  can  be  established  on  the 
other  side  is  that  a  due  prudence  dictates  that  some 
attention  be  paid  to  the  pleasures  of  others,  in  cal- 
culating one's  own  pleasures. 

And  this  suggests: 

2.  That  the  end  is  still  private  pleasure,  general 
pleasure  being  simply  a  means.  Granting  all  that 
the  hedonists  urge,  what  their  arguments  prove  is 
not  that  the  general  pleasure  is  the  end  of  action, 
but  that,  private  pleasure  being  the  end,  regard  for 
the  pleasures  of  others  is  one  of  the  most  efficient 
means  of  reaching  it.  If  private  pleasure  is  a 
selfish  end,  the  end  is  not  less  selfish  because  the 
road  to  it  happens  to  bring  pleasure  to  others  also. 

See  Koyce,  Religious  Aspect  of  Philosophy,  pp. 
61-74. 

3.  The  use  of  education  and  law  to  bring  about 
this  identity,  presupposes  that  we  already  have  the 


62 


ideal  of  the  identity  as  something  desirable  to 
realize — it  takes  for  granted  the  very  thing  to  be 
proved.  Why  should  it  occur  to  men  to  use  the 
private  influence  of  opinion  and  education,  and 
the  public  influences  of  law  and  penalty  to  identify 
private  welfare  >  with  public,  unless  they  were  al- 
ready convinced  that  general  welfare  was  the  end 
of  conduct,  the  one  desirable  thing?  What  the 
hedonist  has  to  do  is  to  show  how,  from  the  end  of 
private  happiness,  we  may  get  to  the  end  of  general 
happiness.  What  Bentham  and  Mill  do  show  is, 
that  if  we  take  general  happiness  as  the  end,  we 
may  and  do  use  education  and  law  to  bring  about 
an  identity  of  personal  and  general  pleasures. 
This  may  go  undoubted,  but  the  question  how  we 
get  the  general  happiness  as  the  end,  the  good,  re- 
mains unanswered. 

Nor  is  this  all.  The  conception  of  general  hap- 
piness, taken  by  itself,  has  all  the  abstractness, 
vagueness  and  uncertainty  of  that  of  personal  hap- 
piness, multiplied  indefinitely  by  the  greater  num- 
ber of  persons  introduced.  To  calculate  the  effects 
of  actions  upon  the  general  happiness — when  hap- 
piness is  interpreted  as  a  state  of  feeling — is  an 
impossibility.  And  thus  it  is  that  when  one  is 
speaking  of  pleasures  one  is  really  thinking  of  wel- 
fare, or  well-being,  or  satisfied  and  progressive 
human  lives.     Happiness  is  considered  as  it  would 


63 

be,  if  determined  by  certain  active  and  well  defined 
interests,  and  thus  the  hedonistic  theory,  while  con- 
tradicting itself,  gets  apparently  all  the  support  of 
an  opposed  theory.  Universalistic  hedonism  thus, 
more  or  less  expressly,  takes  for  granted  a  social 
order,  or  community  of  persons,  of  which  the  agent 
is  simply  one  member  like  any  other.  This  is  the 
ideal  which  it  proposes  to  realize.  In  this  way — 
although  at  the  cost  of  logical  suicide — the  ideal 
gets  a  content  and  a  definiteness  upon  which  it  is 
possible  to  base  judgments. 

That  this  social  organization  of  persons  is  the 
ideal  which  Mill  is  actually  thinking  of,  rather  than 
any  succession  of  states  of  agreeable  sensation,  is  evi- 
dent by  his  treatment  of  the  whole  subject.  Mill  is 
quite  clear  that  education  and  opinion  may  produce 
any  sort  of  feeling,  as  well  as  truly  benevolent  motives 
to  actions.  For  example,  in  his  critique  of  Whewell, 
he  says,  (Op.  cit.,  p.  154):  *'  All  experience  shows  that 
the  moral  feeliDgs  are  preeminently  artificial,  and  the 
products  of  culture;  that  even  when  reasonable,  they 
are  no  more  spontaneous  than  the  growth  of  corn  and 
wine  (which  are  quite  as  natural),  and  that  the  most 
senseless  and  pernicious  feeling  can  as  easily  be  raised 
to  the  utmost  intensity  by  inculcation,  as  hemlock  and 
thistles  could  be  reared  to  luxuriant  growth  by  sowing 
them  instead  of  wheat."  It  is  certainly  implied  here 
that  legislation,  education  and  public  opinion  must 
have  as  a  presupposed  standard  the  identity  of  general 
and  private  interests  or  else  they  may  produce  any- 
thing whatever.  That  is  to  say,  Mill  instead  of  arriv- 
ing at  his  result  of  general  happiness  simply  takes  it 
for  granted. 


64 


This  fact  and  the  further  fact  that  he  virtually 
defines  happiness  through  certain  objective  interests 
and  ends  (thus  reversing  the  true  hedonistic  position) 
is  obvious  from  the  following-,  (Millj  Op.  cit.,  pp.  343- 
347):  After  again  stating  that  the  moral  feelings  are 
capable  of  cultivation  in  almost  any  direction,  and 
stating  that  moral  associations  that  are  of  artificial 
construction  dissolve  through  the  force  of  intellectual 
analysis  (c/.  his  Autobiography,  p.  136),  and  that  the  as- 
sociation of  pleasure  with  the  feeling  of  duty  would 
similarly  dissolve  unless  it  had  a  natural  basis  of  sen- 
timent, he  goes  on.  "  But  there  is  this  basis  of  power- 
ful natural  sentiment.  This  firm  foundation  is  that 
of  the  social  feelings  of  mankind;  the  desire  to  be  in 
unity  with  our  fellow-creatures.  The  social  state  is  at 
once  so  natural,  so  necessary,  and  so  habitual  to  man 
that  except  in  some  unusual  circumstances,  or  by  an 
effort  of  volu7itxry  abstraction  he  never  conceives  of 
himself  otherwise  tha7i  as  a  member  of  a  body.  Any 
condition,  therefore,  which  is  essential  to  a  state  of 
society  becomes  more  and  more  an  inseparable  part  of 
every  person's  conception  of  the  state  of  things  which 
he  is  born  into,  and  which  is  the  destiny  of  a  human 
being."  Mill  then  goes  on  to  describe  some  of  the 
ways  in  which  the  social  unity  manifests  itself  and 
influences  the  individual's  conduct.  Then  the  latter 
"comes,  as  though  instinctively,  to  be  conscious  of 
himself  as  a  being  who  of  course  pays  regard  to  others. 
The  good  of  others  becomes  to  him  a  thing  naturally 
and  necessarily  to  be  attended  to,  like  any  of  the  phy- 
sical conditions  of  our  existence.  The  deeply -rooted 
conception  which  every  individual  even  now  has  of 
himself  as  a  social  being  tends  to  make  him  feel  it  as 
one  of  his  natural  wants,  that  there  should  be  harmony 
between  his  feelings  and  aims  and  those  of  his  felloyy 


65 


d'eaUires.    This  conviction  is  the  ultimate  sanction  of 
the  greatest  happiness  morality." 

It  is  to  be  noticed  that  there  is  involved  in  this 
account  three  ideas,  any  one  of  which  involves  such 
a  reconstruction  of  the  pleasure  theory  as  to  be  a 
surrender  of  hedonism. 

1.  There  is,  in  one  instance,  a  natural  (or  in- 
trinsic) connection  between  the  end  of  conduct  and 
the  feelings,  and  not  simply  an  external  or  artificial 
bond.  This  is  in  the  case  of  the  social  feelings. 
In  other  words,  in  one  case  the  ideal,  that  is,  happi- 
ness, is  intrinsically,  or  necessarily  connected  with 
a  certain  kind  of  conduct,  that  flowing  from  the 
social  impulses.  This,  of  course,  reverses  hedonism 
for  it  makes  happiness  dependent  upon  a  certain 
kind  of  conduct,  instead  of  determining  the  nature 
of  conduct  according  as  it  happens  to  result  in 
pleasure  or  pain. 

2.  Man  conceives  of  himself,  of  his  end  or  of 
his  destiny  as  a  member  of  a  social  body,  and 
this  conception  determines  the  nature  of  his  wants 
and  aims.  That  is  to  say,  it  is  not  mere  happiness 
that  a  man  wants,  but  a  certain  kind  of  happiness, 
that  which  would  satisfy  a  man  who  conceived  of 
himself  as  social,  or  having  ends  and  interests  in 
common  with  others. 

3.  Finally,  it  is  not  mere  general  "happiness" 
which  is  the  end,  at  all.     It  is  social  unity;  "  har- 


66 


mony  of  feelings  and  aims,"  a  beneficial  condition 
for  one's  self  in  which  the  benefits  of  all  are  included. 
Instead  of  the  essentially  vague  idea  of  states  of 
pleasurable  sensation  we  have  the  conception  of  a 
community  of  interests  and  ends,  in  securing  which 
alone  is  true  happiness  to  be  found.  This  concep- 
tion of  the  moral  ideal  we  regard  as  essentially 
true,  but  it  is  not  hedonism.  It  gives  up  wholly 
the  notion  that  pleasure  is  the  desired,  and,  since  it 
sets  up  a  standard  by  which  it  determines  pleas- 
ure, it  gives  up  equally  the  notion  that  pleasure  as 
such  is  the  desirable. 

In  addition  to  the  works  already  referred  to,  the 
following  will  give  fuller  ideas  of  hedonism  and  util- 
itarianism: For  historical  treatment  see  Sidgwick, 
History  of  Ethics;  Jodl,  Geschichte  der  Ethik,  Vol. 
II.,  pp,  432-468;  Bain,  Moral  Science,  Historical  Men- 
tion; Guyau,  La  Morale  Anglaise  Contemporaine; 
Wallace,  Epicureanism;  Pater,  Marius,  the  Epicurean. 
Paley,  Moral  and  Political  Philosophy;  Grote,  Exam- 
ination of  the  Utilitarian  Philosophy  (especially  fair 
and  valuable  criticism);  Lecky,  History  of  European 
Morals,  Yol.  I,  ch.  1;  Birks,  Utilitarianism  (hostile); 
Blackie,  Four  Phases  of  Morals:  Essay  on  Utilitar- 
ianism (hostile);  Gizycki,  Students'  Manual  of  Ethical 
Philosophy,  (Coit's  trans.,  favorable);  Calderwood, 
Hand-Book  of  Moral  Philosophy  (opposed);  Laurie, 
Ethica  (e.  g.,  p.  10).  "  The  object  of  will  is  not  pleas- 
ure, not  yet  happiness,  but  reason-given  law— the  law 
of  harmony;  but  this  necessiirily  ascertained  through 
feeling,  and,  therefore,  through  happiness." 

Wilson  and  Fowler,  Principles  of  Morals,  Yol.  I, 


67 


pp.  98-112;  Vol.  II,  pp.  262-273.     Paulsen,  System  der 
Ethik,  pp.  195-210. 

XXIV. 

The  Utilitarian  Theory  There  has  lately 
Combined  With  the  been  an  attempt  to 
Doctrine  of  Evolution,  c o m b i n e  utilitarian 
morality  with  the  theory  of  evolution.  This  posi- 
tion, chiefly  as  occupied  by  Herbert  Spencer  and 
Leslie  Stephen,  we  shall  now  examine. 

Alexander,  also,  Moral  Order  and  Progress,  makes 
large  use  of  the  theory  of  evolution,  but  does  not 
attempt  to  unite  it  with  any  form  of  hedonism. 

For  the  combination,  at  least  three  decided  ad- 
vantages are  claimed  over  ordinary  utilitarianism. 

1.  It  transforms  'Bmpirical  rules'  into  'rational 
laws.'  The  evolutionary  hedonists  regard  pleasure 
as  the  good,  but  hold  that  the  theory  of  evolution  en- 
ables them  to  judge  of  the  relation  of  acts  to 
pleasure  much  better  than  the  ordinary  theory.  As 
Mr.  Spencer  puts  it,  the  ordinary  theory  is  not  sci- 
entific, because  it  does  not  fully  recognize  the 
principle  of  causation  as  existing  between  certain 
acts  as  causes,  and  pleasures  ( or  pains )  as  efPects. 
It  undoubtedly  recognizes  that  some  acts  do  result 
in  pain  or  pleasure,  but  does  not  show  how  or  why 
they  so  result.  By  the  aid  of  the  theory  of  evoh 
tion  we  can  demonstrate  that  certain  acts  must  be 
beneficial  because  furthering  evolution,  and  others 
painful  because  retarding  it. 


/> 


68 

Spencer,  Data  of  Ethics,  pp.  5758.  *'  Morality 
properly  so-called — the  science  of  right  conduct — has 
for  its  object  to  determine  liow  and  why  certain  rules 
of  conduct  are  detrimental,  and  certain  other  rules 
beneficial.  Those  good  and  bad  results  cannot  be  acci- 
dental, but  must  be  necessary  consequences  of  the 
constitution  of  things;  and  I  conceive  it  to  be  the 
business  of  moral  science  to  deduce,  from  the  laws  of 
^Ufe  and  the  conditions  of  existence,  what  kinds  of 
action  necessarily  tend  to  produce  happiness,  and  what 
kinds  to  produce  unhappiness.  Having  done  this,  its 
deductions  are  to  be  recognized  as  laws  of  conduct; 
and  are  to  be  conformed  to  irrespective  of  a  direct 
estimation  of  happiness  or  misery The  objec- 
tion which  I  have  to  the  current  utilitarianism  is, 
that  it  recognizes  no  more  developed  form  of  utility 
— does  not  see  that  it  has  reached  but  the  initial  stage 

of  moral  science It  is  supposed  that  in  future, 

as  now,  utility  is  to  be  determined  only  by  observation 
of  results;  and  that  there  is  no  possibility  of  knowing 
by  deduction  from  fundamental  principles  what  con- 
duct 7nust  be  detrimental  and  what  conduct  inust  be 
beneficial."  Cf.  also  ch.  IX,  and  Stephen,  Science  of 
Ehtics,  ch.  IX. 

It  is  contended,  then,  that  by  the  use  of  the  evo- 
lutionary theory,  we  may  substitute  certain  condi- 
tions, which  in  the  very  nature  of  things  tend  to 
produce  happiness,  for  a  calculation,  based  upon 
observation  of  more  or  less  varying  cases  in  the  past, 
of  the  probable  results  of  the  specific  action.  Thus 
we  get  a  fixed  objective  standard  and  do  away  with 
all  the  objections  based  upon  the  uncertainty, 
vagueness  and  liability  to  exceptions,  of  the  ordinary 
utilitarian  morality. 


Spencer,  Op.  cit.,  p.  162:  "When  alleging  that 
empirical  utilitarianism  is  but  introductory  to  rational 
utilitarianism  I  pointed  out  that  the  last  does  not 
take  welfare  for  its  immediate  object  of  pursuit,  but 
takes  for  its  immediate  object  of  pursuit  conformity 
to  certain  principles  Avhich,  in  the  nature  of  things, 
causally  determine  welfare." 

2.  It  reconciles  'intuitionalism'  with  'empir- 
icism.' The  theory  of  evolution  not  only  gives  us 
an  objective  standard  on  which  happiness  neces- 
sarily depends,  and  from  which  we  may  derive  our 
laws  of  cenduct,  instead  of  deriving  them  from  ob- 
servation of  particular  cases,  but  it  enables  us  to 
recognize  that  there  are  certain  moral  ideas  now 
innate  or  intuitive.  The  whole  human  race,  the 
whole  animal  race,  has  for  an  indefinite  time  been 
undergoing  experiences  of  what  leads  to  pleasure 
and  of  what  leads  to  pain,  until  finally  the  results 
of  these  experiences  have  become  organized  into 
our  very  physical  and  mental  make-up.  The  first 
point  was  that  we  could  substitute  for  consideration 
of  results  consideration  of  the  causes  which  deter- 
mine these  results ;  the  present  point  is  that  so  far 
as  we  have  to  use  results,  we  can  use  those  of  the 
race,  instead  of  the  short  span  of  the  individual's 
life. 

Spencer,  Op.  cit.,  pp.  123-124.  "  The  experiences  of 
utility  organized  and  consolidated  through  all  past 
generations  of  the  human  race  have  been  producing 
corresponding  nervous  modifications,  which,  by  con- 


70 

tinned  transmission  and  accumulation,  have  become 
in  us  certain  faculties  of  moral  intuition — certain 
emotions  corresponding  to  right  and  wrong  conduct, 
which  have  no  apparent  basis  in  the  individual  expe- 
riences of  utility The  evolution  hypothesis  thus 

enables  us  to  reconcile  opposed  moral  theories 

The  doctrine  of  innate  powers  of  moral  perception 
become  congruous  with  the  utilitarian  doctrine,  when 
it  is  seen  that  preferences  and  aversions  are  rendered 
organic  by  inheritance  of  the  effects  of  pleasurable 
and  painful  experiences  in  progenitors." 

3.  It  reconciles  'egoism'  with  'altruism.'  As 
we  have  seen,  the  relation  of  personal  pleasure  to 
general  happiness  presents  very  serious  difficulties  to 
hedouism.  It  is  claimed,  however,  that  the  very  pro- 
cess of  evolution  necessitates  a  certain  identity. 
The  being  which  survives  must  be  the  being  which 
has  properly  adapted  himself  to  his  environment, 
which  is  largely  social,  and  there  is  assurance  that 
the  conduct  will  be  adapted  to  the  environment 
just  in  the  degree  in  which  pleasure  is  taken  in 
acts  which  concern  the  welfare  of  others.  If  an 
agent  has  no  pleasure  in  such  acts  he  will  either  not 
perform  them,  or  perform  them  only  occasionally, 
and  thus  will  not  meet  the  conditions  of  surviving. 
If  surrounding  conditions  demand  constantly  certain 
actions,  those  actions  in  time  must  come  to  be  pleas- 
urable. The  conditions  of  sui'vival  demand  altru- 
istic action,  and  hence  such  action  must  become 
pleasurable  to  the  agent  (and  in  that  sense  egotistic). 


71 

"  From  the  laws  of  life  (Spencer  Op.  cit.,  p.  205)  it 
must  be  concluded  that  unceasing  social  discipline 
will  so  mould  human  action,  that  eventually  sympa- 
thetic pleasures  will  be  pursued  to  the  fullest  extent 

advantageous  to  each  and  all Though  pleasure 

may  be  gained  by  giving  pleasure,  yet  the  thought  of 
the  sympathetic  pleasure  to  be  gained  will  not  occupy 
consciousness,  but  only  the  thought  of  the  pleasure 
given." 

XXV. 

Criticism  Regarding  the  whole  foregoing 

of  scheme,  it  may  be  said  so  far  as  it 

Evolutionary  is  true,  or  suggestive  of  truth,  it  is 
UtilitarlanisiTK  not  hedonistic.  It  does  not  judge 
actions  fi-onrmeir  effects  in  the  way  of  pleasure  or 
pain,  but  it  judges  pleasures  from  the  basis  of  an 
independent  standard  '  in  the  nature  of  things.' 
It  is  expressly  declared  that  happiness  is  not  to  be 
so  much  the  end,  as  the  test  of  conduct,  and  it  is 
not  happiness  in  general,  of  every  sort  and  kind, 
but  a  certain  kind  of  happiness,  happiness  condi- 
tioned by  certain  modes  of  activity,  that  is  the  test. 
Spencer's  hedonism  in  its  final  result  hardly  comes 
to  more  than  saying  that  in  the  case  of  a  perfect 
individual  in  a  perfect  society,  every  action  what- 
ever would  be  accompanied  by  pleasure,  and  that, 
therefore,  in  such  a  society,  pleasure  would  be  an 
infallible  sign  and  test  of  the  morality  of  action — a 
position  which  is  not  denied  by  any  ethical  writer 
"whatever,  unless  a  few  extreme  ascetics.      Such  a 


72 


position  simply  determines  the  value  of  pleasure 
by  an  independent  criterion,  and  then  goes  on  to 
say  of  pleasure  so  determined,  that  it  is  the  test  of 
the  morality  of  action.  This  may  be  true,  but,  true 
or  not,  it  is  not  hedonistic. 

Furthermore,  this  standard  by  which  the  nature 
of  pleasure  is  determined  is  itself  an  ethical  (that 
is,  active)  standard.  We  have  already  seen  that 
Spencer  conceives  that  the  modes  of  producing  hap- 
piness are  to  be  deduced  from  the  "  laws  of  life  and 
the  conditions  of  existence".  This  might  be,  of 
course,  a  deduction  from  x>hysical  laws  and  condi- 
tions. But  when  we  find  that  the  laws  and  condi- 
tions which  Spencer  employs  are  mainly  those  of 
social  life,  it  is  difficult  to  see  why  he  is  not  employ- 
ing a  strictly  ethical  standard.  To  deduce  not 
-gight  actions  directly  from  happiness,  but  the  kinds 
of  actions  which  will  produce  happiness  from  a  con- 
sideration of  a  certain  ideal  of  social  relationships 
seems  like  a  reversal  of  hedonism;  but  this  is  what 
Mr.  Spencer  does. 

XXVI. 

The  Real  Mr.  Spencer  expressly  recognizes 

Criterion      that  there  exists  (1)  an  ideal  code  of 

of  conduct,  formulating  the  conduct  of 

Evolutionary  the  completely  adapted  man  in  the 

Ethics.         completely  evolved  society.    Such  a 

code  is  called  absolute  ethics  as  distinguished  from 


73 

relative  ethics — a  code  the  injunctions  of  which  are 
alono  to  be  considered  "  as  absolutely  right,  in  con- 
trast with  those  that  are  relatively  right  or  least 
wrong,  and  which,  as  a  system  of  ideal  conduct,  is 
to  serve  as  a  standard  for  our  guidance  in  solving, 
as  well  as  we  can,  the  problems  of  real  conduct " 
(p.  275  of  the  Data  of  Ethics).  The  ideal  code 
deals,  it  will  be  observed,  with  the  behavior  of  the 
completely  adapted  man  in  a  completely  evolved 
society."  This  ideal  as  elsewhere  stated,  is  "  an 
ideal  social  being  so  constituted  that  his  spontane- 
ous activities  are  congruous  with  the  conditions 
imposed   by    the    social    environment   formed   by 

other  such  beings The  ultimate  man  is 

one  in  whom  there  is  a  correspondence  between 
all  the  promptings  of  his  nature  and  all  the 
requirements  of  his  life  as  carried  on  in  society" 
(p.  275).  Furthermore,  "to  make  the  ideal  man 
serve  as  a  standard,  he  has  to  be  defined  in  terms 
of  the  conditions  ivhich  his  nature  fulfill — in  terms 
of  the  objective  requisites  which  must  be  met 
before  conduct  can  be  right"  (p.  179).  "  Hence  it 
is  manifest  that  we  must  consider  the  ideal  man  as 
existing  in  the  ideal  social  state  "  (p.  280). 

Here  we  have  in  the  most  express  terms  the  rec- 
ognition of  a  final  and  permanent  standard  with 
reference  to  which  the  nature  of  happiness  is  deter- 
mined, and  the  standard  is  one  of  social  relation- 


74 


ships.  To  be  sure  it  is  claimed  that  the  standard 
is  one  which  results  in  greatest  happiness,  but  every 
ethical  theory  has  always  claimed  that  the  ideal 
moral  condition  would  be  accompanied  by  the  max- 
imum possible  happiness. 

2.  The  ideal  state  is  defined  with  reference  to 
the  end  of  evolution.  That  is,  Spencer  defines 
pleasure  from  an  independent  standard  instead  of 
using  pleasure  as  the  standard.  This  standard  is 
to  be  got  at  by  considering  that  idea  of  "fully 
evolved  conduct  "  given  by  the  theory  of  evolution. 
This  fully  evolved  conduct  implies:  (i.)  GroajUst- 
possible  quantity  of  life,  both  in  length  and 
breadth;  (ii.)  Similar  maintenance  of  life  in  pro- 
geny; and  (iii.)  Life  in  which  there  is  no  interfer- 
ence of  actions  by  one  with  those  of  another,  and, 
indeed,  life  in  which  the  "members  of  a  society 
give  material  help  in  the  achievement  of  ends, 
thus  rendering  the  "  lives  of  all  more  complete ". 
(See  Chap.  II  of  Data  of  Ethics).  Furthermore, 
the  "  complete  life  here  identified  with  the  ideally 
moral  life "  may  be  otherwise  defined  as  a  life  of 
perfect  equilibrium  (p.  74),  or  balance  of  functions 
(p.  90),  and  this  considered  not  simply  with  refer- 
ence to  the  individual,  but  also  with  reference  to 
the  relation  of  the  individual  to  society.  "  Com- 
plete life  in  a  complete  society  is  but  another  name 
for  complete  equilibrium  between  the  co-ordinated 


75 

activities  of  each  social  unit  and  those  of  the  ag- 
gregate of  units"  (p.  74,  and  the  whole  of  chap. 
V.  See  also  pp.  169-170  for  the  position  that 
the  end  is  a  society  in  which  each  individual  has 
full  functions  freely  exercised  in  due  harmony,  and 
is,  p.  100,  "  the  spontaneous  exercise  of  duly  pro- 
portioned faculties  " ). 

3.  Not  only  is  pleasure  thus  determined  by  an 
objective  standard  of  "  complete  living  in  a  com- 
plete society  "  but  it  is  expressly  recognized  that 
as  things  are  noiv,  pleasure  is  not  a  perfect  guide 
to,  or  even  test  of  action.  And  this  difficulty  is 
thought  to  be  removed  by  reference  to  the  ideal 
state  in  which  right  action  and  happiness  will  fully 
coincide. 

The  failure  of  pleasure  as  a  perfect  test  and 
guide  of  right  conduct,  comes  out  in  at  least  three 
cases : — 

1.  There  is  the  conflict  of  one  set  of  pleasures 
with  another,  or  of  present  happiness  with  future, 
one  lot  having  to  be  surrendered  for  the  sake  of 
another.  This  is  wrong,  since  pleasure  as  such  is 
good,  and,  although  a  fact  at  present,  exists  only  on 
account  of  the  incomplete  development  of  society. 
When  there  is  "complete  adjustment  of  humanity 
to  the  social  state  there  will  be  recognition  of  the 
truth  that  actions  are  completely  right  only  when, 
besides  being  conducive  to  future  happiness,  special 


76 

and  general,  they  are  immediately  pleasurable,  and 
that  painfulness,  not  only  ultimate  but  proximate, 
is  the  concomitant  of  actions  which  are  wrong " 
(p.  29.  See  for  various  cases  in  which  "pleasures 
are  not  connected  with  actions  which  must  be  per- 
formed "  and  for  the  statement  that  this  difficulty 
will  be  removed  in  an  ideal  state  of  society,  p.  77; 
pp.  85-87;  pp.  98-99). 

2.  There  is  also,  at  present,  a  conflict  of  indi- 
vidual happiness  with  social  welfare.  In  the  first 
place,  as  long  as  there  exist  antagonistic  societies, 
the  individual  is  called  upon  to  sacrifice  his  own 
happiness  to  that  of  others,  but  "  such  moralities 
are,  by  their  definition,  shown  to  belong  to  incom- 
plete conduct;  not  to  conduct  that  is  fully 
evolved"  (See  pp.  133-137).  Furthermore,  there 
will  be  conflict  of  claims,  and  consequent  compro- 
mises between  one's  own  pleasure  and  that  of 
others  (p.  148),  until  there  is  a  society  in  which 
there  is  "  complete  living  through  voluntary  co- 
operation ",  this  implying  negatively  that  one  shall 
not  interfere  with  another  and  shall  fulfill  contracts, 
and  positively  that  men  shall  spontaneously  help  to 
aid  one  another  lives  beyond  any  specified  agree- 
ment (pp.  146-149). 

3.  There  is,  at  present,  a  conflict  of  obligation 
with  pleasure.  Needed  activities,  in  other  words, 
have  often  to  be  performed  under  a  pressure,  which 


77 


either  lessens  the  pleasure  of  the  action,  or  brings 
pain,  the  act  being  performed,  however,  to  avoid  a 
greater  pain  (so  that  this  point  really  comes  under 
the  first  head).  But  "  the  remoulding  of  human 
nature  into  fitness  for  the  requirements  of  social 
life,  must  eventually  make  all  needful  activities 
pleasurable,  while  it  makes  displeasurable  all 
activities  at  variance  with  these  requirements'^ 
(p.  183).  "The  things  now  done  with  dislike, 
through  sense  of  obligation,  will  be  done  then 
with  immediate  liking"  (p.  84,  and  p.  186; 
and  pp.  255-256).  All  the  quotations  on  these 
various  points  are  simply  so  many  recognitions 
that  pleasure  and  pain  as  such  are  not  tests  of 
morality,  but  that  they  become  so  when  morality 
is  independently  realized.  Pleasure  is  not  now  a 
test  of  conduct,  but  becomes  such  a  test  as  fast  as 
activity  becomes  full  and  complete !  What  is  this 
but  to  admit  (what  was  claimed  in  Sec.  XIII.)  that 
activity  itself  is  what  man  wants ;  not  mere  activity, 
but  the  activity  which  belongs  to  man  as  man,  and 
which  therefore  has  for  its  realized  content  all 
man's  practical  relationships. 

Of  Spencer's  conception  of  the  ideal  as  something 
not  now  realized,  but  to  be  some  time  or  other  realized 
once  for  all,  we  have  said  nothing.  But  see  below^ 
Sec.  64,  and  also  Alexander.Op.  cit.,  pp.  264-277,  and 
also  James,  Unitarian  Review,  Vol.  XXII.,  pp.  212-213. 

We  have  attempted,  above,  to  deal  with  evolu- 


78 


tionary  ethics  only  in  the  one  point  of  its  supposed 
connection  with  pleasure  as  a  standard.  Accounts  and 
criticisms  of  a  broader  scope  will  be  found  in  Darwin, 
Descent  of  Man;  Martineau,  Op.  cit.,  Vol.  II,  pp.  335- 
393;  Schurman,  Ethical  Import  of  Darwmism;  Sorley, 
Ethics  of  Naturalism,  chapters  V,  and  VI;  Stephen, 
Science  of  Ethics,  particularly  pp.  31-34;  78-89;  359- 
379;  Royce,  Religious  Aspect  of  Philosophy,  pp.  74-85; 
Everett,  Poetry,  Comedy  and  Duty,  Essay  on  the  New 
Ethics;  Seth  in  Mind,  Jan.  1889,  on  Evolution  of  Mo- 
rality; Dewey,  Andover  Review,  Vol.  VII,  p.  570; 
Hyslop,  Ibid.,  Vol.  IX,  p.  348. 

XXVII. 

Formal  Ethics.  We  come  now  to  the  ethical 
theories  which  attempt  to  find  the  good  not  only 
in  the  will  itself,  but  in  the  will  irrespective  of 
any  end  to  be  reached  by  the  will.  The  typical 
instance  of  such  theories  is  the  Kantian,  and  we 
shall,  therefore,  make  that  the  basis  of  our  examin- 
ation. Kant's  theory,  however,  is  primarily  a  theory 
not  of  the  good,  but  of  the  nature  of  duty,  and  that 
makes  a  statement  of  his  doctrine  somewhat  more 
difficult. 

"  The  concept  of  good  and  evil  must  not  be  deter- 
mined before  the  moral  law  (of  which  it  seems  as  if  it 
must  be  the  foundation),  but  only  after  it  and  by 
means  of  it  "  (Abbott's  Trans.,  p.  154). 

Separating,  as  far  as  we  can,  his  theory  of  the 
good  from  that  of  duty,  we  get  the  following  re- 
sults : 

1.    Goodness  belongs  to  the  will,  and  to  that  alone. 


<s 


*'  Nothing  can  possibly  be  conceived,  in  the  world 
or  out  of  it,  which  can  be  called  good  without  qual- 
ification except  a  good  will."  The  will  is  not  good 
because  of  what  it  brings  about,  or  what  it  is  fitted 
to  bring  about;  that  is,  it  is  not  good  on  account 
of  its  adaptation  to  any  end  outside  of  itself.  It 
is  good  in  itself.  "It  is  like  a  jewel  which 
shines  by  its  own  light,  having  its  whole  value  in 
itself." 

2.  The  good,  then,  is  not  to  be  found  in  any 
object  of  will  or  of  desire,  nor  in  the  will  so  far  as  it 
is  directed  towards  an  end  outside  itself.  For  the 
will  to  be  moved  by  inclination  or  by  desire  is  for  it 
to  be  moved  for  the  sake  of  some  external  end,  which, 
moreover,  is  always  pleasure  (Kant,  i.  e.,  agrees 
with  the  hedonists  regarding  the  object  of  desire, 
but  on  that  very  ground  denies  that  pleasure  is  the 
good  or  the  desirable).  If,  then,  no  object  of  desire 
can  be  the  motive  of  a  good  will,  what  is  its  motive  ? 
Evidently  only  some  principle  derived  from  the  will 
itself.  The  good  will  is  the  will  which  acts  from 
regard  to  its  own  law. 

3.  What  is  the  nature  of  this  law  ?  All  objects 
of  desire  {i.  e.,  all  material)  have  been  excluded 
from  it.  It  must,  therefore,  be  purely  formal. 
The  only  content  of  the  law  of  the  good  will  is  the 
idea  of  law  itself.  The  good  will  acts  from  rever- 
ences for  law  as  law.     It  not  only  acts  in  confor- 


80 


mity  loith  law,  but  has  the  conception  of  law  as  its 
directing  spring. 

4.  There  must,  however,  be  some  application  of 
this  motive  of  law  in  general  to  particular  motives 
or  acts.  This  is  secured/ as  follows:  The  idea  of 
law  carries  with  it  the  idea  of  universality  or  self- 
identity.  To  act  from  the  idea  of  law  is  then  so  to 
act  that  the  motive  of  action  can  be  generalized — 
made  a  motive  for  all  conduct.  The  good  will  is 
the  legislative  will;  the  will  whose  motive  can  be 
made  a  law  for  conduct  universally.  The  ques- 
tion in  a  specific  case  is  then:  Can  your  motive 
here  be  made  universa},  i.  e.,  a  law?  If  the  action 
is  bad,  determined  by  an  object  of  desire,  it  will  be 
contingent  and  variable,  since  pleasures  are  differ- 
ent to  different  persons  and  to  the  same  person 
fi'om  moment  to  moment.  The  will  is  good, 
then,  when  its  motive  (or  maxim)  is  to  be  found 
solely  in  the  legislative  form  of  the  action,  or  in  its 
fitness  to  be  generalized  into  a  universal  principle 
of  conduct,  and  the  law  of  the  good  will  is:  "Act 
so  that  the  maxim  of  thy  will  can  always  at  the 
same  time  hold  good  as  a  principle  of  universal 
legislation"   (Abbott's  Trans.,  p.   119;  also  p.  55). 

5.  The  application  may  be  illustrated  by  the  fol- 
lowing cases: 

(a)  Some  one,  wearied  by  what  he  conceives  to 
be  the  entire  misery  of  life  proposes  to  commit  sui- 


81 


cide,  but  he  asks  himself  whether  thin  maxim  based 
on  the  principle  of  self-love  could  become  a  univer- 
sal law  of  nature;  and  "  we  see  at  once  that  a  system 
of  nature  in  which  the  very  feeling,  whose  office  is 
to  compel  men  to  the  preservation  of  life,  should 
lead  men  by  a  universal  law  to  death,  cannot  be 
conceived  without  contradiction".  That  is  to  say, 
the  principle  of  the  motive  which  would  lead  a  man 
to  suicide  cannot  be  generalized  without  becoming 
contradictory — it  cannot  be  made  a  law  universal. 

(b)  An  individual  wishes  to  borrow  money  which 
he  knows  that  he  cannot  repay.  Can  the  maxim  of 
this  act  be  universalized  ?  Evidently  not :  "a  system 
of  nature  in  which  it  should  be  a  universal  law  to 
promise  without  performing,  for  the  sake  of  private 
good,  would  contradict  itself,  for  then  no  one  would 
believe  the  promise — the  promise  itself  would  be- 
come impossible  as  well  as  the  end  it  had  in  view." 

(c)  A  man  finds  that  he  has  certain  powers, 
but  is  disinclined  to  develop  them.  Can  he  make 
the  maxim  of  such  conduct  a  universal  law?  He 
cannot  ivill  that  it  should  become  universal.  "  As  a 
rational  being,  he  must  will  that  his  faculties  be 
developed." 

(d)  A  prosperous  individual  is  disinclined  to  re- 
lieve the  misery  of  others.  Can  his  maxim  be  gen- 
eralized?    "It  is  impossible  to  loill  that  such  a 

principle  should  have  the  universal  validity  of  a 
6 


82 


law  of   nature.     For   a   will  which   resolved   this 

would  contradict  itself,  in  as  much  as  many  cases 

might  occur  in  which  one  would  have  need  of  the 

love   and  sympathy  of  others,    and  in  which,   by 

such  a  law  of  nature,  sprung  from  his  own  will,  he 

would  deprive  himself  of  all  hope  of  the  aid  he 

desires." 

In  conclusion,  then,  the^  good  is  the  good  will 

itself^  and  the  w^ill  ij^good  in  virtue  of  the  bare 

form   of   its   action,  independentl^_o|__alL_spaoial 

material  willed. 

See  Abbott's  trans.,  pp.  9-46,  105-120.    Caird's  Criti- 
cal Philosophy  of  Kant,  Vol.  II,  pp.  171-181;  209-212. 

XXVIII. 

Relation  \  The  Kantian  theory,  as  already 
of  this  jfioticed,  agrees  in  its  psychology  with 
ledonism.  It  holds  that  pleasures 
are  the  objects  of  desire.  But  it 
Hedonism,  reverses  the  conclusion  which  hedon- 
ism draws  from  this  fact  as  to  the  desirable.  Since 
pleasures  are  the  object  of  desire,  and  pleasures 
can  give  no  law,  no  universality  to  action,  the  end 
of  action  must  be  found  wholly  outside  the  pleas- 
ures, and  wholly  outside  the  desires.  It  can  be 
found  only  in  the  bare  law  of  the  will  itself. 

1.  Hedonism  finds  the  end  of  conduct,  or  the 
desirable,  wholly  determined  by  the  various  partic- 
ular desires  which  a  man  happens  to  have;  Kant- 


83 


ianism  holds  that  to  discover  the  end  of  conduct, 
we  must  wholly  exclude  the  desires. 

2.  Hedonism  holds  that  the  Tightness  of  con- 
duct is  determined  wholly  by  its  consequences; 
Kantianism  holds  that  the  consequences  have  noth- 
ing to  do  with  the  rightness  of  an  act,  but  that  it 
is  decided  wholly  by  the  motive  of  the  act. 

From  this  contrast,  we  may  anticipate  both  our 
criticism  of  the  Kantian  theory  and  our  concep- 
tion of  the  true  end  of  action.  The  fundamental 
error  of  hedonism  and  Kantianism  is  the  same 
— the  supposition  that  desires  are  for  pleasure 
only.  Let  it  be  recognized  that  desires  are  for 
objects  conceived  as  satisfying  or  developing  the 
self,  and  that  pleasure  is  incidental  to  this  fulfill- 
ment of  the  capacities  of  self,  and  we  have  the 
means  of  escaping  the  one-sidedness  of  Kantianism 
of  well  as  of  hedonism.  We  can  see  that  the  end 
is  neither  the  procuring  of  particular  pleasures 
through  the  various  desires,  nor  action  from  the 
mere  idea  of  abstract  law  in  general,  but  that  it  is 
the  satisfaction  of  desires  according  to  law.  The 
desire  in  its  particular  character  does  not  give  the 
law;  this,  as  we  saw  in  our  criticism  of  hedonism,  is 
to  take  away  all  law  from  conduct  and  to  leave  us 
at  the  mercy  of  our  chance  desires  as  they  come 
and  go.  On  the  other  hand  the  law  is  not  some- 
thing wholly  apart  from  the  desires.     This,  as  we 


84 

shall  see,  is  equally  to  deprive  us  of  a  law  capable 
of  governing  conduct.  The  law  is  the  law  of  the 
desires  themselves — the  harmony  and  adjustment 
of  desires  necessary  to  make  them  instruments 
in  fulfilling  the  special  destiny  or  business  of  the 
agent. 

From  the  same  point  of  view  we  can  see  that  the 
criterion  is  found  neither  in  the  consequences  of 
our  acts  as  pleasures,  nor  apart  from  consequences. 
It  is  found  indeed  in  the  consequences  of  acts,  hut  in 
their  complete  consequences : — those  upon  the  agent 
and  society, ^as  helping  or  hindering  them  in  ful- 
fillment of  their  respective  functions. 

XXIX. 
Criticism        1.     With  reference  to  the  unification 
of  of  the  conduct  of  the  individual.     Of 

Kantian     pleasure  as  the  object  of  desire, we  need 
Criterion    now  say  nothing  further,  but  may  pro- 
of ceed  at  once  to  the  criticism  of  the 
Conduct,    theory  that  the  will,  acting  according 
to  the  mere  idea  of  law  in  general,  is  the  end  of  man 
and  hence  that  it  is  the  criterion  of  the  rightness 
or   wrongness   of  his  acts.     We  shall  attempt  to 
show  that  such  an  end  is  wholly  empty,  and  that  it 
fails  (as  much  as  hedonism)  to  unify  conduct  or 
to  place  any  specific  act  as  to  its  morality. 

The  difficulty  of  the  end  proposed  by  Kant  is 
that  it  is  an  abstraction;  that  it  is  remote.     The 


85 

hedonist  leaves  out  one  element  from  conduct,  and 
takes  into  account  the  merely  particular  or  individ- 
ualistic side;  the  Kantian  abstracts  the  opposite 
element  —  the  merely  universal.  The  formal 
universal,  or  universal  stripped  of  all  particular 
content,  has,  considered  as  an  end  of  action,  at  least 
three  defects. 

I.  It  is  an  end  which  would  make  impossible 
that  very  conduct  of  which  it  is  taken  to  be  the 
end — that  is,  moral  conduct.  In  denying  that 
pleasure  is  the  end  of  action,  we  took  pains  to  show 
that  it  (or  rather  the  feeling  due  to  the  tension 
between  pleasure  of  a  state  considered  better  and 
the  pain  of  the  experienced  worse  state)  is  a  neces- 
sary element  in  the  force  impelling  to  action.  The 
mere  conception  of  an  end  is  purely  intellectual; 
there  is  nothing  in  it  to  move  to  action.  It  must 
be  felt  as  valuable,  as  worth  having,  and  as  more 
valuable  than  the  present  condition  before  it  can 
induce  to  action.  It  must  interest,  in  a  word,  and 
thus  excite  desire.  But  if  feeling  is,  as  Kant  de- 
clares,  to  be  excluded  from  the  motive  to  action,  be- 
cause it  is  pathological  or  related  to  pleasure  as  the 
object  of  desire,  how  can  there  be  any  force  mov- 
ing  to  action?  The  mind  seems  to  be  set  over 
against  a  purely  theoretical  idea  of  an  end,  with 
nothing  to  connect  the  mind  with  the  end. 
Unless  the  end  interests,  unless  it  arouses  emotion, 


why  should  the  agent  ever  aim  at  it  ?  And  if  the 
law  does  excite  feeling  or  desire,  must  not  this, 
on  Kant's  theory,  be  desire  for  pleasure  and  thus 
vitiate  the  morality  of  the  act  ?  We  seem  to  be  in 
a  dilemma,  one  side  of  which  makes  moral  action 
impossible  by  taking  away  all  inducing  force, 
while  the  other  makes  it  impossible  by  introducing 
an  immoral  factor  into  the  motive. 

Kant  attempts  to  escape  from  this  difficulty  by 
claiming  that  there  is  one  feeling  which  is  rational, 
and  not  sensuous  in  quality,  being  excited  not  by 
the  conception  of  pleasure  or  pain,  but  by  that  of 
the  moral  law  itself.  This  is  the  feeling  of  rever- 
ence, and  through  this  feeling  we  can  be  moved  to 
moral  action.  Waiving  the  question  whether  the 
mere  idea  of  law  in  general  would  be  capable  of 
arousing  any  moral  sentiment — or,  putting  the 
matter  from  the  other  side,  whether  Kant  gives  us 
a  true  account  of  the  feeling  of  reverence — it  is 
clear  that  this  admission  is  fatal  to  Kant's  theory. 
If  desire  or  feeling  as  such  is  sensuous  ( or  paf 7io- 
logical,  as  Kant  terms  it),  what  right  have  we  to 
make  this  one  exception?  And  if  we  can  make 
this  one  exception,  why  not  others  ?  If  it  is  possi- 
ble in  the  case  of  reverence,  why  not  in  the  case, 
say,  of  patriotism,  or  of  friendship,  or  of  philan- 
thropy, or  of  love — or  even  of  curiosity,  or  of 
indignation,  or  of  desire  for  approbation  ?     Kant's 


87 


separation  of  reverence,  as  the  one  moral  sentiment 
from  all  others  as  pathological,  is  wholly  arbitrary, 
The  only  distinction  we  can  draw  is  of  the  feelings 
as  they  well  up  naturally  in  reaction  upon  stimuli, 
sentiments  not  conceived  and  thus  neither  moral  nor 
immoral,  and  sentiments  as  transformed  by  ends 
of  action,  in  which  case  all  without  exception  may 
be  moral  or  immoral,  according  to  the  character  of 
the  end.  The  Kantian  separation  is  not  only  ar- 
bitrary psychologically,  but  is  false  historically. 
So  far  is  it  from  true  that  the  only  moral  sentiment 
is  reverence  for  law,  that  men  must  have  been 
moved  toward  action  for  centuries  by  motives  of 
love  and  hate  and  social  regard,  before  they  became 
capable  of  such  an  abstract  feeling  as  reverence. 
And  it  may  be  questioned  whether  this  feeling,  as 
Kant  treats  it,  is  even  the  highest  or  ultimate  form 
of  moral  sentiment — whether  it  is  cot  transitional 
to  love,  in  which  there  is  complete  union  of  the 
individual  interest  on  one  hand,  and  the  objective 
end  on  the  other. 

For  these  criticisms  at  greater  length,  see  Caird, 
Critical  Philosophy  of  Kant,  Vol.  II,  Bk.  II,  ch.  lY. 

II.  The  Kantian  end  would  not  bring  about  any 
system  in  conduct — on  the  contrary,  it  would  tend 
to  differences  and  collisions.  What  is  required  to 
give  unity  to  the  sphere  of  conduct  is,  as  we  have 
seen,  a  principle  which  shall  comprehend  all  the 


88 


motives  to  action,  giving  eacli  its  due  place  in  con- 
tributing to  the  whole — a  universal  which  shall 
organize  the  various  particular  acts  into  a  harmon- 
ious system.  Now  Kant's  conception  of  the  good 
does  not  lead  to  such  result.  We  may  even  say 
that  it  makes  it  impossible.  According  to  Kant  each 
act  must  be  considered  independently  of  every 
other,  and  must  be  capable  of  generalization  on  its 
own  account.  Each  motive  of  action  must  be 
capable  of  being  itself  a  universal  law  of  nature. 
Each  particular  rule  of  action  is  thus  made  abso- 
lute, and  we  are  left  not  with  one  universal  which 
comprehends  all  particulars  in  their  relations  to 
one  another,  but  literally  with  a  lot  of  universals. 
These  not  only  fail  to  have  a  unity,  but  each,  as 
absolute,  must  contradict  some  other.  If  the  prin- 
ciples always  to  tell  the  truth  and  always  to 
preserve  life  are  universal  in  themselves,  and  not 
universal  simply  through  their  relation  to  some 
total  and  controlling  principle  of  life,  it  must  be 
impossible  to  reconcile  them  when  they  come  into 
conflict. 

See  Caird,  Op.  cit.,  Yol.  II,  pp.  187-190,  and  p.  215. 
Cf.  '*  Treated  as  universal  and  without  exception, 
eveu  two  such  commands  as  e.  g.,  '  Thou  shalt  not 
steal,'  and  '  Thou  shalt  not  kill,'  must  ultimately  come 
into  conflict  with  each  other;  for,  if  all  other  interests 
are  to  be  postponed  to  the  maintenance  of  the  rights 
of  property,  it  is  impossible  that  all  other  interests 
should   also   be   postponed   to   the   preservation    of 


89 

human  life— and  to  make  either  property  or  life  an 
absolute  end  is  to  raise  a  particular  into  a  universal, 
to  treat  a  part  as  if  it  were  a  whole.  But  the  true 
moral  vindication  of  each  particular  interest  cannot 
be  found  in  elevating  it  into  something  universal  and 
absolute,  but  only  in  determining  its  place  in  relation 
to  the  others  in  a  complete  system  of  morality." 

III.     The  principle  is  so  empty  of  all  content 

that  it  does  not  enable  us  to  judge  of  any  specific 

act. 

A  caution  should  be  noticed  here,  which  is  equally 
applicable  to  the  criticism  of  hedonism:  When  it  is 
said  that  the  end  does  not  enable  us  to  judge  of  specific 
acts,  the  objection  is  not  that  the  theory  (Kantianism 
or  hedonism,  as  the  case  may  be)  does  not  give  us 
rules  for  moral  conduct.  It  is  not  the  business  of  any 
theory,  however  correct  as  a  theory,  to  lay  down  rules 
for  conduct.  The  theory  has  simply  to  discover  what 
the  end  is,  and  it  is  the  end  in  view  which  determines 
specific  acts.  It  is  no  more  the  business  of  ethics  to 
tell  what  in  particular  a  man  ought  to  do,  than  it  is  of 
trigonometry  to  survey  land.  But  trigonometry  must 
state  the  principles  by  which  land  is  surveyed,  and  so 
ethics  must  state  the  end  by  which  conduct  is  gov- 
erned. The  objection  to  hedonism  and  Kantianism  is 
that  the  end  they  give  does  not  itself  stand  in  any 
practical  relation  to  conduct.  We  do  not  object  to 
Kantianism  because  the  theory  does  not  help  us  as  to 
specific  acts,  but  because  the  end,  formal  law,  does 
not  helpjis,  while  the  real  moral  end  must  deteFmine 
the  whole  of  conduct.    (  ' 

Suppose    a    man    thrown     into    the     complex 

surroundings    of    life   with    an   intelligence   fully 

developed,  but  with  no  previous  knowledge  of  right 


) 


90 

or  wrong,  or  of  the  prevailing  moral  code.  He  is 
to  know,  however,  that  goodness  is  to  be  found  in 
the  good  will,  and  that  the  good  will  is  the  will 
moved  by  the  mere  idea  of  the  universality  of  law. 
Can  we  imagine  such  an  one  deriving  from  his 
knowledge  any  idea  of  what  concrete  ends  he  ought 
to  pursue  and  what  to  avoid  ?  He  is  surrounded 
by  special  circumstances  calling  for  special  acts, 
and  all  he  knows  is  that  luhatever  he  does  is  to  be 
done  from  respect  for  its  universal  or  legislative 
quality.  What  community  is  there  between  this 
principle  and  ichat  he  is  to  do  ?  There  is  no  bridge 
from  the  mere  thought  of  universal  law  to  any 
concrete  end  coming  under  the  law.  There  is  no 
common  principle  out  of  which  gi'ows  the  concep- 
tion of  law  on  one  hand,  and  of  the  various  special 
ends  of  action,  on  the  other. 

Suppose,  however,  that  ends  are  independently 
suggested  or  proposed,  will  the  Kantian  conception 
serve  to  test  their  moral  fitness  ?  Will  the  concep- 
tion that  the  end  must  be  capable  of  being  general- 
ized tell  us  whether  this  or  that  end  is  one  to  be 
followed  ?  The  fact  is,  that  there  is  no  end  what- 
ever that  in  or  by  itself,  cannot  be  considered  as 
self- identical,  or  as  universal.  If  we  presuppose  a 
certain  rule,  or  if  we  presuppose  a  certain  moral 
order,  it  may  be  true  that  a  given  motive  cannot  be 
universalized  without  coming  into  conflict  with  this 


91 


presupposed  rule  or  order.  But  aside  from  some 
moral  system  into  connection  witli  which  a  pro- 
posed end  may  be  brought,  for  purposes  of  compar- 
ison, lying  is  just  as  capable  as  truth-telling  of 
generalization.  There  is  no  more  contradiction  in 
the  motive  of  universal  stealing  than  there  is  in 
that  of  universal  honesty — unless  there  is  as  stand- 
ard some  order  or  system  of  things  into  which  the 
proposed  action  is  to  fit  as  a  member.  And  this 
makes  not  the  bare  universality  of  the  act,  but  the 
system,  the  real  criterion  for  determining  the  moral- 
ity of  the  act. 

Thus  Mill  remarks,  regarding  Kant's  four  illustra- 
tions (Ante,  p.  80),  that  Kant  really  has  to  employ  utili- 
tarian considerations  to  decide  whether  the  act  is 
moral  or  not. 

For  the  foregoing  criticisms,  see  Bradley,  Ethical 
Studies,  Essay  IV;  Caird,  Op.  cit.,  Vol.  II,  pp.  185-186, 
and  212-214,  and,  indeed,  the  whole  of  ch.  II  of  Bk.  II. 

XXX. 

Criticism  of  2.  With  reference  to  the  furnish- 
Kantian  ing  of  a  common  good  or  end.  If 
Criterion  the  Kantian  end  is  so  formal  and 
of  Conduct,  empty  as  not  to  enable  us  to  bring 
into  relation  with  one  another  the  various  acts  of  one 
individual,  we  may  agree,  without  argument,  that 
it  does  not  provide  us  with  an  end  which  shall  unify 
the  acts  of  different  men  into  a  connected  order  of 
conduct.     The  moral  end,  the  acting  from  regard 


92 

for  law  as  law,  is  presented  to  each  individual  by 
himself,  entirely  apart  from  his  relations  to  others. 
That  he  has  such  relations  may,  indeed,  furnish  ad- 
ditional material  to  which  the  law  must  be  applied, 
but  is  something  to  which  the  character  of  the  law 
is  wholly  indifferent.  The  end  is  not  in  itself  a 
social  end,  and  it  is  a  mere  accident  if  in  any  case 
social  considerations  have  to  be  taken  into  account. 
It  is  of  the  very  quality  of  the  end  that  it  appeals 
to  the  individual  as  an  isolated  individual. 

It  is  interesting  to  note  the  way  in  which  Kant, 
without  expressily  giving  up  the  purely  formal 
character  of  the  moral  end,  gives  it  more  and  more 
content,  and  that  content  social.  The  moral  law  is 
not  imposed  by  any  external  authority,  but  by  the  ra- 
tional will  itself.  To  be  conscious  of  a  universal  self- 
imposed  law  is  to  be  conscious  of  one's  self  as  having 
a  universal  aspect.  The  sgurce  of  the  law  and  its  end 
are  both  in  the  will — in  the  rational  self.  Thus  man 
is  an  end  to  himself,  for  the  rational  self  is  man.  Such 
a  being  is  a  person—"  Rational  beings  are  persons,  be- 
cause their  nature  marks  them  out  as  ends  in  them- 
selves, i.  e.,  as  beings  who  should  never  be  used  merely 

as  means Such  beings  are  not  ends  simply /or  1^5, 

whose  existence  as  brought  about  by  our  action  has 
value,  but  ohjectixe  ends,  i.  e.,  beings  whose  existence 
is  an  end  in  itself,  an  end  for  which  no  other  end  can 
be  substituted  so  as  to  reduce  it  to  a  mere  means." 
Thus,  we  get  a  second  formula.  "  Always  treat  human- 
ity, both  in  your  own  person  and  in  the  person  of 
others,  as  an  end  and  never  merely  as  a  means."  (Ab- 
bott's Trans.,  pp.  46-47;  Caird,  Op.  cit.,  Vol.  II,  219). 
Here  the  criterion  of  action  is  no  longer  the  bare  self- 


93 


consistency  of  its  motive,  but  its  consistency  with  the 
rational  nature  of  the  agent,  that  which  constitutes 
him  a  person.  And,  too,  "the  will  of  every  rational 
being  is  likewise  a  universally  law-giving  will."  (Ab- 
bott, p.  49).  The  conception  of  humanity  embodied  in 
others  as  well  as  in  one's  self  is  introduced,  and  thus 
our  criterion  is  socialized.  Even  now,  however,  we 
have  a  lot  of  persons,  each  of  whom  has  to  be  consid- 
ered as  an  end  in  himself,  rather  than  a  social  unity  as 
to  which  every  individual  has  an  equal  and  common 
reference.  Kant  advances  to  this  latter  idea  in  his 
notion  of  a  "  Kingdom  of  ends."  "  We  get  the  idea  of 
a  complete  and  sj^stematically  connected  totality  of 
all  ends — a  whole  system  of  rational  beings  as  ends  in 
themselves  as  well  as  of  the  special  ends  which  each 
of  them  may  set  up  for  himself— i  e.,  a  kingdom  of 

ends Morality  is  the  reference  of  all  deeds  to  the 

legislation  which  alone  can  make  such  a  kingdom  pos- 
sible." (See  Abbott's  Trans.,  pp.  51-52).  This  trans- 
formation of  a  mere  formal  universal  into  a  society  or 
kingdom  of  persons— while  not  sufficiently  analyzed 
as  Kant  states  it  (see  Caird,  Vol.  II,  pp.  225-226)— gives 
us  truly  a  social  criterion,  and  we  shall  hereafter  meet 
something  resembling  it  as  the  true  ideal.  As  finally 
stated,  it  does  not  dilt'er  in  essential  content  from  Mill's 
individual  who  "  conceives  of  himself  only  as  a  member 
of  a  body,"  or  from  Spencer's  free  man  in  a  free  society. 

XXXI. 

Value  of  Kantian  We  must  not  leave  the  Kant- 
Theory,  ian  theory  with  the  impression 
that  it  is  simply  the  caprice  of  a  philosopher's  brain. 
In  two  respects,  at  least,  it  presents  us,  as  we  shall 
see,  with  elements  that  must  be  adopted;  and  even 
where  false  it  is  highly  instructive. 


94 

Kant's  fundamental  error  is  in  his  conception 
that  all  desires  or  inclinations  are  for  private  pleas- 
ure, and  are,  therefore,  to  be  excluded  from  the 
conception  of  the  moral  end.  Kant's  conclusion,  ac- 
cordingly, that  the  good  will  is  purely  formal  follows 
inevitably  if  ever  it  is  granted  that  there  is  any 
intrinsic  opposition  between  inclination  as  such, 
and  reason  or  moral  law  as  such.  If  there  is  such 
an  opposition,  all  desire  must  be  excluded  from  re- 
lation to  the  end.  We  cannot  make  a  compromise 
by  distinguishing  between  higher  and  lower  de- 
sires. On  the  contrary,  if  the  end  is  to  have  content, 
it  must  include  all  desires,  leaving  out  none  as  in 
itself  base  or  unworthy.  Kant's  great  negative 
service  was  showing  that  the  ascetic  principle  log- 
ically results  in  pure  formalism — meaning  by  ascetic 
principle  that  which  disconnects  inclinations  from 
moral  action. 

Kant's  positive  service  was,  first,  his  clear  in- 
sight into  the  fact  that  the  good  is  to  be  found  only 
in  activity;  that  the  will  itself,  and  nothing  beyond 
itself,  is  the  end;  and  that  to  adopt  any  other  doc- 
trine, is  to  adopt  an  immoral  principle,  since  it  is  to 
subordinate  the  will  (character,  self  and  personal- 
ity), to  some  outside  end.  His  second  great  service 
was  in  showing  the  necessity  of  putting  in  abeyance 
the  immediate  satisfaction  of  each  desire  as  it  hap- 
pens to  arise,  and  of  subordinating  it  to  some  law 


/ 


95 


not  to  be  found  in  the  particular  desire.  He 
showed  that  not  the  particular  desire,  but  only  the 
desire  as  controlled  by  the  idea  of  law  could  be  the 
motive  of  moral  action.  And  if  he  fell  into  the 
error  of  holding  that  this  meant  that  the  desire 
must  be  excluded  from  the  moral  motive,  this  error 
does  not  make  it  less  true  that  every  particular 
desire  must  be  controlled  by  a  universal  law.  The 
truth  of  asceticism  is  that  the  desire  must  be 
checked  until  subordinated  to  the  activity  of  the 
whole  man.  See  Caird,  Op.  cit..  Vol.  II,  p.  200; 
pp.  203-207;  226-227. 

XXXII. 

The  Problem       If  we  gather  together  the  results 
and  of    our  observations  of  hedonism 

Its  Solution,  and  of  Kantianism  we  get  some- 
thing like  the  following  problem  and  solution 
in  outline.  The  end  of  action,  or  the  good,  is  the 
realized  will,  the  developed  or  satisfied  self.  This 
satisfied  self  is  found  neither  in  the  getting  of  a 
lot  of  pleasures  through  the  satisfaction  of  desires 
just  as  they  happen  to  arise,  nor  in  obedience  to 
law  simply  because  it  is  law.  It  is  found  in  satis- 1 
faction  of  desires  according  to  laiu.  This  law, 
however,  is  not  something  external  to  the  desires, 
but  is  their  own  law.  Each  desire  is  only  one 
striving  of  character  for  larger  action,  and  the  only 


96 


way  in  which  it  can  really  find  satisfaction  (that  is, 
pass  from  inward  striving  into  outward  action )  is  as 
a  manifestation  of  character.  A  desire,  taken  as  a 
desire  for  its  own  apparent  or  direct  end  only,  is  an 
abstraction.  It  is  a  desire  for  an  entire  and  con- 
tinuous activity,  and  its  satisfaction  requires  that  it 
fitted  into  this  entire  and  continuous  activity;  that 
it  be  made  conformable  to  the  conditions  which  will 
bring  the  whole  man  into  action.  It  is  this  fitting- 
in  which  is  the  law  of  the  desire — the  '  universal ' 
controlling  its  particular  nature.  This  'fitting-in'  is 
no  mechanical  shearing  off,  nor  stretching  out, 
but  a  reconstruction  of  the  natural  desire  till  it 
becomes  an  expression  of  the  whole  man.  The 
problem  then  is  to  find  that  special  form  of  char- 
acter, of  self,  which  includes  and  transforms  all 
special  desires.  This  form  of  character  is  at  once 
the  Good  and  the  Law  of  man. 

We  cannot  be  content  with  the  notion  that  the 
end  is  the  satisfaction  of  the  self,  a  satisfaction 
at  once  including  and  subordinating  the  ends  of 
the  particular  desire.  This  tells  us  nothing  posi- 
tive— however  valuable  it  may  be  negatively  in 
warning  us  against  one-sided  notions  —  until  we 
know  ivhat  that  whole  self  is,  and  in  ivhat  con- 
cretely its  satisfaction  consists.  As  the  first  step 
towards  such  a  more  concrete  formula,  we  may 
say: 


97 


XXXIII. 

TheMoralEndor       In  saying  that  this  realiza- 
the  Good  is  the     tion  is  hy  a  person  and  as  a 
Realization  by     person  we  are  saying  nothing 
a  Person  and       new.     We  are  simply  repeat- 
as    a     Person       ing   what    we    have  already 
of  Individuality,     learned  about  moral  conduct 
(Sec.  III).    Conduct  is  not  that  which  simply  reaches- 
certain  consequences — a   bullet   shot    from   a  rifle 
does  that;    there  is   conduct  only  when  the  conse- 
quences are  foreseen;  made  the  reason  of   action. 
A  person  is  a  being  capable   of  conduct — a  being 
capable  of  proposing  to  himself  ends  and  of  attempt- 
ing to  realize  them. 

But  what  is  the  meaning  of  the  rest  of  the  for- 
mula? What  do  we  mean  by  individuality?  We 
may  distinguish  two  factors — or  better  two  aspects, 
two  sides — in  individuality.  On  one  side,  it  means 
special  disposition,  temperament,  gifts,  bent,  or 
inclination;  on  the  other  side,  it  means  special 
station,  situation,  limitations,  surroundings,  oppor- 
tunities, etc.  Or,  let  us  say,  it  means  specific  capac- 
ity and  specific  environment.  Each  of  these  ele- 
ments, apart  from  the  other,  is  a  bare  abstraction 
and  without  reality.  Nor  is  it  strictly  correct  to 
say  that  individuality  is  constituted  by  these  two 
factors  together.  It  is  rather,  as  intimated  above,, 
that  each  is   individuality  looked  at  from  a  cer- 


98 


tain  point  of  view,  from  within  or  from  without. 
If  we  are  apt  to  identify  individuality  with  the 
inner  side  alone,  with  capacity  apart  from  its  sur- 
roundings, a  little  reflection  will  show  the  error. 
Even  the  most  devoted  adherent  of  "  self -culture  " 
would  not  hold  that  a  gift  could  be  developed,  or  a 
disposition  manifested,  in  isolation  from  all  exterior 
circumstances.  Let  the  disposition,  the  gift  be 
what  it  may  (amiable  or  irascible,  a  talent  for 
music  or  for  abstract  science,  or  for  engineering), 
its  existence,  to  say  nothing  of  its  culture,  apart 
from  some  surroundings  is  bare  nonsense.  If  a 
person  shuts  himself  up  in  a  closet  or  goes  out  into 
the  desert  the  better  to  cultivate  his  capacities, 
there  is  still  the  desert  or  the  closet  there;  and  it 
is  as  conditioned  by  them,  and  with  reference  to 
them  that  he  must  cultivate  himself.  For  more  is 
true  than  that,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  no  man  can 
wholly  withdraw  himself  from  surroundings;  the 
important  point  is  that  the  manner  and  the  purpose 
of  exercising  his  capacity  is  always  relative  to  and 
dependent  upon  the  surroundings.  Apart  from  the 
environment  the  capacity  is  mere  emptiness;  the 
exercise  of  capacity  is  always  establishing  a  relation 
to  something  exterior  to  itself.  All  we  can  say  of 
capacity  apart  from  environment  is  that  if  certain 
circumstances  were  supplied,  there  would  be  some- 
thing there.      We  call  a  capacity  capability,  possi- 


99 

bility,  as  if  for  the  very  purpose  of  emphasizing 
the  necessity  of  external  supplementing. 

We  get  the  same  fact,  on  the  other  side,  by  call- 
ing to  mind  that  circumstances,  environment  are 
not  indifferent  or  irrelevant  to  individuality.  The 
difference  between  one  individual  and  another  lies 
as  much  in  the  station  in  which  each  is  placed  as  in 
the  capacity  of  each.  That  is  to  say,  environment 
enters  into  individuality  as  a  constituent  factor, 
helping  make  it  what  it  is. 

On  the  other  hand,  it  is  capacity  which  makes  the 
environment  really  an  environment  to  the  individual. 

The  environment  is  not  simply  the  facts  which 
happen  objectively  to  lie  about  an  agent;  it  is  such 
part  of  the  facts  as  may  be  related  to  the  capacity 
and  the  disposition  and  gifts  of  the  agent.  Two  mem- 
bers of  the  same  family  may  have  what,  to  the  out- 
ward eye,  are  exactly  the  same  surroundings,  and 
yet  each  may  draw  from  these  surroundings  wholly 
unlike  stimulus,  material  and  motives.  Each  has  a 
different  environment,  made  different  by  his  own 
mode  of  selection;  by  the  different  way  in  which 
his  interests  and  desires  play  upon  the  plastic  ma- 
terial about  him.  It  is  not,  then,  the  environment 
as  physical  of  which  we  are  speaking,  but  as  it  ap- 
peals to  consciousness,  as  it  is  affected  by  the  make- 
up of  the  agent.  This  is  the  practical  or  moral 
environment.       The     environment    is    not,    then, 


/ 


/ 


100 


what  is  then  and  there  present  in  space.  To  the 
Christian  martyr  the  sufferings  of  his  master,  and 
the  rewards  of  faithfulness  to  come  to  himself  were 
more  real  parts  of  his  environment  than  the  stake 
and  fire.  A  Darwin  or  a  Wallace  may  find  his  en- 
vironment in  South  America  or  the  Philippine 
Islands — or,  indeed,  in  every  fact  of  a  certain  sort 
wherever  found  upon  the  earth  or  in  whatever  geo- 
logical era.  A  man  of  philanthropic  instincts  may 
find  his  environment  among  Indians  or  Congo 
negroes.  Whatever,  however  near  or  remote  in 
time  and  space,  an  individual's  capacities  and 
needs  relate  him  to,  is  his  environment.  The  mo- 
ment we  realize  that  only  what  one  conceives  as 
proper  material  for  calling  out  and  expressing  some 
internal  capacity  is  a  part  of  his  surroundings,  we 
see  not  only  that  capacity  depends  upon  envi- 
ronment, but  that  environment  depends  upon  ca- 
pacity. In  other  words,  we  see  that  each  in  itself 
is  an  abstraction,  and  that  the  real  thing  is  the  in- 
dividual who  is  constituted  by  capacity  and  envi- 
ronment in  their  relation  to  one  another. 

Function  is  a  term  which  we  may  use  to  express 
union  of  the  two  sides  of  individuality.  The  idea 
of  function  is  that  of  an  active  relation  established 
between  power  of  doing,  on  one  side,  and  some- 
thing to  be  done  on  the  other.  To  exercise  a 
function  as  a  student  is  not  to  cultivate  tastes  and 


101 

possibilities  internally;  it  is  also  to  meet  external 
demands,  the  demands  of  fact,  of  teachers,  of 
others  needing  knowledge.  The  citizen  exercises 
his  function  not  simply  in  cultivating  sentiments  of 
patriotism  within ;  one  has  to  meet  the  needs  of  the 
city,  the  country  in  which  one  lives.  The  realiza- 
tion of  an  artistic  function  is  not  poring  over  emo- 
tions of  beauty  pumped  up  within  one's  self;  it  is 
the  exercise  of  some  calling.  On  the  other  hand, 
it  hardly  needs  saying  that  the  function  of  a  stu- 
dent, a  citizen,  an  artist,  is  not  exercised  in  bare 
conformity  to  certain  external  requirements.  With- 
out the  inner  disposition  and  inclination,  we  call 
conduct  dead,  perfunctory,  hypocritical.  An  activ- 
ity is  not  functional,  unless  it  is  organic,  expressing 
the  life  of  the  agent. 

A  function  thus  includes  two  sides — the  exter- 
nal and  the  internal— and  reduces  them  to  elements 
in  one  activity.  We  get  an  analogy  in  any  animal 
function.  The  digestive  function  includes  the  ma- 
terial appropriated,  just  as  much  as  it  does  the 
organ  appropriating.  It  is  the  service,  the  work 
which  the  organ  does  in  appropriating  material.  So, 
morally,  function  is  capacity  in  action ;  environment 
transformed  into  an  element  in  personal  service. 
Thus  we  get  another  formula  for  the  moral  end: 
The  performance  by  a  person  of  his  specific 
function,   this  function   consisting   in    an    activity 


102 


which  realizes  wants  and  powers  with  reference  to 
their  peculiar  surroundings. 

XXXIV. 
Moral  Functions       If  morality  consists  in  the 
as  exercise  of  one's  specific  func- 

I  nterests.  tions,  it  follows  that  no  detailed 

account  of  the  content  of  the  moral  end  can  possi- 
bly be  given.  This  content  is  thoroughly  individual 
or  infinite.  It  is  concrete  to  the  core,  including 
every  detail  of  conduct,  and  this  not  in  a  rigid 
formula,  but  in  the  movement  of  life.  All  we  can 
do  is,  by  abstraction,  to  select  some  of  the  main 
features  of  the  end,  such  as  the  more  common  and 
the  more  permanent.  While  each  individual  has 
his  own  particular  functions,  which  can  no  more  be 
exhausted  by  definition  or  description  than  the 
qualities  of  any  other  individual  object,  it  is  also 
true  that  we  can  recognize  certain  typical  functions 
to  be  found  permanently  and  in  all.  These  make, 
as  it  were,  the  skeleton  of  the  moral  end  which  each 
clothes  with  his  own  flesh  and  blood. 

Functions  are  interests — objective  interests  were 
not  the  term  tautological.  Interests  have  three 
traits  worth  special  mention. 

1.  They  are  active.  An  interest  is  not  an  emo- 
tion produced  from  without.  It  is  the  reaction  of 
the  emotion  to  the  object.  Interest  is  identified,  in 
ordinary  speech,  with  attention;  we  take  an  inter- 


103 


est,  or,  if  we  say  simply  '  interested,'  that  involves 
some  excitation,  some  action  just  beginning.  We 
talk  of  a  man's  interests,  meaning  his  occupations 
or  range  of  activities. 

2.  They  are  objective.  The  emotion  aroused 
goes  out  to  some  object,  and  is  fixed  upon  that;  we 
are  always  interested  in  something.  The  active 
element  of  interest  is  precisely  that  which  takes  it 
out  of  the  inner  mood  itself  and  gives  it  a  ter- 
minus, an  end  in  an  object. 

3.  An  interest  is  satisfaction.  It  is  its  own  re- 
ward. It  is  not  a  striving  for  something  unreal- 
ized, or  a  mere  condition  of  tension.  It  is  the 
satisfaction  in  some  object  which  the  mind  already 
has.  This  object  may  be  possessed  in  some 
greater  or  less  degree,  in  full  realization  or  in  faint 
grasp,  but  interest  attaches  to  it  as  possessed.  This 
differentiates  it  from  desire,  even  where  otherwise 
the  states  are  the  same.  Desire  refers  to  the  lack, 
to  what  is  not  present  to  the  mind.  One  state  of 
mind  may  be  called  both  interest  in,  and  desire  for, 
knowledge,  but  desire  emphasizes  the  unknown, 
while  interest  is  on  account  of  the  finding  of  self, 
of  intelligence,  in  the  object.  Interest  is  the  union 
in  feeling,  through  action,  of  self  and  an  object. 
An  interest  in  life  is  had  when  a  man  can  prac- 
tically identify  himself  with  some  object  lying 
beyond   his   immediate   or   already   acquired   self 


104 


and  thus  be  led  to  further  expression  of  himself. 

To  have  an  interest,  then,  is  to  be  alert,  to  have 

an  object,  and  to  find  satisfaction  in   an  activity 

which  brings  this  object  home  to  self. 

Not  every  interest  carries  with  it  comj^lete  satisfac- 
tion. But  no  interest  can  be  wholly  thwarted.  The 
purer  the  interest,  the  more  the  interest  is  in  the  ob- 
ject for  its  own  sake,  and  not  for  that  of  some  ulterior 
consequence,  the  more  the  interest  fulfills  itself.  "  Tt 
is  better  to  have  loved  and  lost  than  never  to  have 
loved  at  all",  and  love  is  simply  the  highest  power  of 
interest— interest  freed  from  all  extrinsic  stuff. 

Of  the  interests,  two  abstract  forms  may  be  rec- 
ognized, interest  in  persons  and  interest  in  things. 
And  these  may  be  subdivided :  Interest  in  persons : 
interest  in  self  and  others.  Interest  in  things — 
into  their  contemplation  [knowledge)  and  into  their 
production  (art).  And  art  again  may  be  either 
productive  of  things  to  be  contemplated  (fine  art), 
or  useful  —  manufactures,  industry,  etc.  The 
moral  end,  then,  or  the  Good  will  consist  in  the 
exercise  of  these  interests,  varied  as  they  may  be  in 
each  individual  by  the  special  turn  which  his  capa- 
cities and  opportunities  take. 

XXXV. 
The   Exercise       Let  us  now,  as  a  means  of  ren- 

of  Interests    dering    our    conception     of    the 
as  the         moral  end  more  concrete,  consider 

Moral  End.  briefly  each  of  the  forms  of  in- 
terest. 


105 

■  1.  Interest  in  self.  We  must  free  ourselves 
^om  any  notion  that  an  interest  in  self  is  non- 
moral,  if  not  actually  immoral.  The  latter  position 
is  seldom  consciously  assumed,  but  it  is  not  uncom- 
mon to  have  interest  in  self,  under  the  name  of 
prudence,  marked  off  from  the  moral  sphere.  In- 
terest in  self,  if  the  interest  is  pure,  is  just  as  much 
an  interest  in  the  moral  end  as  interest  in  anything 
or  anybody  else.  Interest  in  self  may  take  the 
form  of  selfishness,  or  of  sentimentalism ;  but  this 
is  only  an  impure  interest,  an  interest  not  in  self, 
but  in  some  conseqences  to  which  the  self  may  be 
directed.  Interest  in  self  may  take  many  forms, 
according  to  the  side  of  self  which  is  the  object  of 
attention,  and  according  to  the  range  of  the  self 
taken  into  account.  A  rudimentary  form  is  pru- 
dence, but  even  this,  instead  of  being  non-moral,  is, 
in  proper  place  and  degree,  moral,  as  moral  as  be- 
nevolence; and,  if  not  in  its  proper  place,  immoral. 
From  such  an  interest  there  are  all  stages  up  to 
the  interest  in  self  as  it  most  deeply  and  broadly  is, 
the  sense  of  honor,  moral  dignity,  self-respect, 
conscientiousness,  that  attempt  to  be  and  to  make 
the  most  of  one's  self,  which  is  at  the  very  root  of 
moral  endeavor. 

The  ground  that  is  usually  given  for  making  the 
distinction  between  Prudence,  Self-Regard,  Self-Love 
as  non-moral,  and  Benevolence,  Altruism  etc.,  as  moral, 
is  that  in  the  former  case  a  mere  regard  for  one's  own 


106 

advantage  dictates  proper  conduct,  while  in  the  latter 
case  there  must  be  a  positive  virtuous  intent.  We 
may,  for  example,  be  pointed  to  some  cool  calculating 
man  who  takes  care  of  his  health  and  his  property, 
who  indeed  is  generally  'prudent',  because  he  sees  that 
it  is  for  his  advantage,  and  be  told  that  while  such  an 
end  is  not  immoral  it  is  certainly  not  moral.  But  in 
return  it  must  be  asked  what  is  meant  here  by  advan- 
tage ?  If  by  it  is  meant  private  pleasure,  or  advan- 
tage over  somebody  else,  then  this  conduct  does  not 
spring  from  interest  in  self  at  all,  but  from  interest  in 
some  exterior  consequence,  and  as  springing  from  such 
an  impure  interest  is  not  simply  non-moral,  but  posi- 
tively immoral.  On  the  other  hand,  if  'advantage* 
means  regard  for  one's  whole  function,  one's  place  in 
the  moral  order,  then  such  interest  in  self  is  moral. 
Care  for  bodily  health  in  the  interest  of  efliciency  in 
conduct  is  supremely  moral  beside  reckless  disregard 
of  it  in  the  interest  of  some  supposed  higher  or  mora 
spiritual  function. 

If  it  is  meant  that  conduct  is  immoral  because  it 
springs  from  some  interest  on  the  part  of  the  agent, 
the  reply  is  that  all  conduct  must  so  arise,  and  that 
any  other  supposition  leads  us  immediately  into  ascet- 
icism and  into  formalism. 

2.  Interest  in  others.  The  generic  form  of  in- 
terest in  others  is  sympathy,  this  being  specified  by 
the  various  forms  of  social  organization  of  which  the 
individual  is  a  member.  A  person  is,  we  have  seen, 
one  who  can  conceive  of  ends  and  can  act  to  realize 
these  ends.  Only  a  person,  therefore,  can  conceive 
of  others  as  ends,  and  so  have  true  sympathy. 

It  is  not  meant,  of  course,  that  animals  do  not  per- 
form acts  which,  de  facto,  are  altruistic  or  even  self- 


107 


sacrificing.  What  is  meant  is  that  the  animal  does 
not  act  from  the  idea  of  others  of  his  kind  as  ends  in 
themselves.  If  the  animal  does  so  act,  it  cannot  be 
denied  the  name  of  person. 

True  interest  in  others  is  pure,  or  disinterested, 
in  the  sense  of  having  no  reference  to  some  further 
and  external  consequence  to  one's  self.  Interest  in 
others  need  not  be  moral  (or  pure)  any  more  than 
interest  in  self  is  necessarily  immoral  (or  impure). 
It  is  a  mistake  to  distinguish  interest  in  self  as 
egoistic  and  interest  in  others  as  altruistic.  Gen- 
uine interests,  whatever  their  object,  are  both  ego- 
istic and  altruistic.  They  are  egoistic  simply  because 
they  are  interests — imply  satisfaction  in  a  realized 
end.  If  man  is  truly  a  social  being,  constituted  by 
his  relationships  to  others,  then  social  action  must 
inevitably  realize  himself,  and  be,  in  that  sense, 
egoistic.  And  on  the  other  hand,  if  the  individ- 
ual's interest  in  himself  is  in  himself  as  a  member  of 
society,  then  such  interest  is  thoroughly  altruistic. 
In  fact,  the  very  idea  of  altruism  is  likely  to  carry 
a  false  impression  when  it  is  so  much  insisted  upon, 
as  it  is  nowadays  in  popular  literature,  as  the 
essence  of  morality.  The  term  as  used  seems  ta 
imply  that  the  mere  giving  up  of  one's  self  to  others, 
as  others,  is  somehow  moral.  Just  as  there  may  be 
an  immoral  interest  in  self,  so  there  may  be  an  im- 
moral '  altruism.'  It  is  immoral  in  any  case  to  sac- 
rifice  the    actual    relationships    in  the  case,  those 


108 


which  demand  action,  to  some  feeling  outside  them- 
selves— as  immoral  when  the  feeling  to  which  the 
sacrifice  is  offered  up  is  labelled  'benevolence',  as 
when  it  is  termed  'greediness'.  It  is  no  excuse 
when  a  man  gives  unwisely  to  a  beggar  that  he 
feels  benevolent.  Moral  benevolence  is  the  feeling 
directed  toward  a  certain  end  which  is  known  to  be 
the  fit  or  right  end,  the  end  which  expresses  the  sit- 
uation. The  question  is  as  to  the  aim  in  giving. 
Apart  from  this  aini,  the  act  is  simply  relieving  the 
agent's  own  feelings  and  has  no  moral  quality. 
Bather  it  is  immoral;  for  feelings  do  have  a  moral 
capacity,  that  is,  a  relation  to  ends  of  action,  and 
hence  to  satisfy  them  on  their  account,  to  deprive 
them  of  their  practical  reference,  is  bad.  Aside 
from  what  this  illustrates,  there  is  a  tendency  in  the 
present  emphasis  of  altruism  to  erect  the  principle 
of  charity,  in  a  sense  which  implies  continued  social 
inequality,  and  social  slavery,  or  undue  dependence 
of  one  upon  another,  into  a  fundamental  moral 
principle.  It  is  well  to  "do  good"  to  others,  but 
it  is  much  better  to  do  this  by  securing  for  them 
the  freedom  which  makes  it  possible  for  them  to 
get  along  in  the  future  without  such  '  altruism '  from 
others.  There  is  what  has  been  well  termed  an 
"egotism  of  renunciation" ;  a  desire  to  do  for  others 
which,  at  bottom,  is  simply  an  attempt  to  regulate 
their  conduct.     Much  of  altruism  is  an  egoism  of  a 


109 


larger  radius,  and  its  tendency  is  to  "  manufacture 
a  gigantic  self",  as  in  tlie  case  wliere  a  father  sacri- 
fices everything  for  his  children  or  a  wife  for  her 
husband. 

See  Caird,  Op.  eit.,  Vol.  II,  p.  402.  See  also  Hinton, 
The  Law  Breaker,  p.  287:  "The  real  meaning 
of  the  difficulty  about  a  word  for  "  regard  for  others'^ 
is  that  we  do  not  want  it.  It  would  mislead  us  if  we 
had  it.  It  is  not  a  regartl  for  others  that  we  need,  but 
simply  a  true  regard,  a  regard  to  the  facts,  to  nature; 
it  is  only  a  truth  to  facts  in  our  regard,  and  its  nature 
is  obscured  l)y  a  reference  to  "others",  as  if  that  were 

the  essential    point It  is  not   as  being  for 

others,  but  as  being  trne,  that  the  regard  for  others  is 
demanded." 

Some  ethical  writers  have  gone  to  the  other 
extreme  and  held  that  all  benevolence  is  a  disguised 
or  an  enlightened  selfishness,  since  having  a  neces- 
sary reference  to  self.  The  reference  to  self  must 
be  admitted;  unless  the  action  springs  from  an 
interest  of  the  agent  himself  the  act  may  be  out- 
wardly useful,  but  cannot  be  moral.  But  the  argu- 
ment alluded  to  inverts  the  true  relation  involved. 
If  a  man's  interests  are  such  that  he  can  find  satis- 
faction only  in  the  satisfaction  of  others,  what  an 
absurdity  to  say  that  his  acting  from  these  inter- 
ests is  selfish!  The  very  fact  of  such  identity  of 
self  with  others  in  his  interest  is  the  proof  of  his 
unselfishness. 

See  Leslie  Stephen,  Science  of  Ethics,  p.  241,  for  an 
admirable  discussion  of  this  difficulty.    When  it  is  said 


/ 


110 


that  your  pain  is  painful  to  me,  he  says,  the  inference 
is  often  "insinuated  that  I  dislike  your  pain  because 
it  is  painful  to  me  in  some  special  relation.  I  do  not 
dislike  it  as  your  pain,  but  in  virtue  of  some  partic- 
ular consequence,  such,  for  example,  as  its  making  you 
less  able  to  render  me  a  service.  In  that  case  I  do  not 
really  object  to  your  pain  as  your  pain  at  all,  but  only 
to  some  removable  and  accidental  consequences." 
(And  see  his  whole  treatment  of  sympathy,  pp.  230-245). 
The  whole  question  is  shown  to  come  to  this:  Is  my 
interest  in,  my  sympathy  with,  your  joy  and  sorrow  as 
such,  or  in  your  joy  and  sorrow  as  contributing  to 
mine?  If  the  latter,  of  course  the  interest  is  selfish, 
not  being  an  interest  in  others  at  all.  But  if  the  for- 
mer, then  the  fact  that  such  sympathy  involves  one's 
own  satisfaction  is  the  best  proof  that  man  is  not  sel- 
fishly constructed.  When  Stephen  goes  on  to  say  that 
such  sympathy  does  not  involve  the  existence  of  a  real 
unity  larger  than  the  individual,  he  seems  to  me  to 
misread  his  own  facts,  probably  because  he  conceives 
of  this  unity  as  some  abstract  or  external  thing. 

Discussion  regarding  self-love  and  benevolence, 
or,  in  modern  phrase,  egoism  and  altruism,  has  been 
rife  in  English  ethics  since  the  time  of  Hobbes,  and 
especially  of  Shaftesbury  and  Butler.  See,  in  particu- 
lar, the  Sermons  of  the  latter,  which  gave  the  central 
point  of  discussion  for  almost  a  century.  With  refer- 
ence to  the  special  weakness  of  this  point  of  view, 
with  its  co-ordination  of  two  independent  principles, 
see  Green,  Philosophical  Works,  Vol.  Ill,  pp.  99-104. 
The  essential  lack  (the  lack  which  we  have  tried  to 
make  good  in  the  definition  of  individuality  as  the 
union  of  capacity  and  surroundings  in  function),  was 
the  failure  to  analyze  the  idea  of  the  individual. 
Individuality  being  defined  as  an  exclusive  principle, 
the  inevitable  result  was  either  (i.)  the  "disguised 


Ill 


selfishness"  theory;  or  (ii.)  the  assumption  of  two 
fundamentally  different  principles  in  man.  The  ordi- 
nary distinction  between  prudence  and  virtue  is  an  echo 
of  the  latter  theory.  Then,  finally,  (iii.)  a  third  princi- 
ple, generally  called  conscience  by  Butler,  was  brought 
in  as  umpire  in  the  conflict  of  prudence  and  virtue. 
Suggestive  modern  treatment  of  the  matter,  from 
a  variety  of  points  of  view,  will  be  found  in  Spencer, 
Data  of  Ethics,  chs.  XI-XIII;  Stephen,  Op.  cit.,  ch. 
VI;  Sidgwick,  Op.  cit.,  Bk.  V,  ch.  VII;  Royce,  Op. 
cit.,  ch.  IV;  Sorley,  Ethics  of  Naturalism,  pp.  134-150; 
Alexander,  Op.  cit.,  pp.  172-180;  Caird,  Op.  cit.,  Vol.11, 
pp.  400-405;  Paulsen,  System  der  Ethik,  pp.  295-311. 

3.  Interest  in  Science  and  Art.  Man  is  inter- 
ested in  the  world  about  him;  the  knowledge  of  the 
nature  and  relations  of  this  world  become  one  of 
his  most  absorbing  pursuits.  Man  identifies  him- 
self with  the  meaning  of  this  world  to  the  point  that 
he  can  be  satisfied  only  as  he  spells  out  and  reads 
its  meaning.  (See,  for  example,  Browning's 
"Grammarian's  Funeral".)  The  scientific  interest 
is  no  less  a  controlling  motive  of  man  than  the  per- 
sonal interest.  This  knowledge  is  not  a  means  for 
having  agreeable  sensations;  it  is  not  dilettanteism 
or  'love  of  culture";  it  is  interest  in  the  large  and 
goodly  frame  of  things.  And  so  it  is  with  art;  man 
has  interests  which  can  be  satisfied  only  in  the 
reconstruction  of  nature  in  the  way  of  the  useful 
and  the  beautiful. 

I  have  made  no  distinction  between  'fine'  and 
*  useful '  art.    The  discussion  of  this  question  does  not 


112 

belong  here,  but  the  rigid  separation  of  them  in  aes- 
thetic theory  seems  to  me  to  have  no  justification. 
Both  are  products  of  intelligence  in  the  service  of 
interests,  and  the  only  difference  is  in  the  range  of 
intelligence  and  interests  concerned.  'Use'  is  'd  lim- 
ited serYice  and  hence  implies  an  external  end;  beauty 
is  complete  use  or  service,  and  hence  not  mere  use  at 
all,  but  self-expression.  Historically,  all  art  which  has 
not  been  merely  sentimental  and  '  literary '  has 
sprung  from  interest  in  good  workmanship  in  the 
realizing  of  an  idea. 

It  seems  as  if  here  interests  violated  their  gen- 
eral law,  and,  in  the  case  of  use  at  least,  were  an 
interest  in  some  ulterior  end.  But  it  may  be  ques- 
tioned whether  a  carpenter  whose  aim  was  con- 
sciously beyond  the  work  he  was  doing,  would  be 
a  good  workman — and  this  whether  the  further 
end  is  his  own  private  advantage,  or  social  benefit 
at  large.  The  thought  of  the  further  benefit  to 
self  and  of  the  utility  to  accrue  to  some  one  else, 
will,  if  it  becomes  a  jmrt  of  what  he  is  doing,  un- 
doubtedly intensify  his  interest — it  must  do  so,  for 
it  enlarges  its  content.  But  to  identify  one's  own 
or  another's  well-being  with  work,  and  to  make  the 
work  a  mere  means  to  this  welfare,  are  two  quite 
different  things.  The  good  artisan  "  has  his  heart 
in  his  work".  His  self-respect  makes  it  necessary 
for  him  to  respect  this  technical  or  artistic  capacity, 
and  to  do  the  best  by  it  that  he  can  without 
scrimping  or  lowering.     To   a  good  business  man 


113 


business  is  not  the  mere  means  to  money- making; 
and  it  is  sentimentalism  (and  hence  immoral)  to 
demand  that  it  be  a  mere  means  to  the  good  of  so- 
ciety. The  business,  if  it  is  a  moral  one  (and  any 
business,  so  far  as  it  is  thus  carried  on,  is  moral), 
is  carried  on  for  the  sake  of  the  activity  itself,  as  a 
realizing  of  capacity  in  a  specific  situation. 

XXXVI. 
The  Moral  We  seem,  however,  to  meet  here, 
Quality  in  relation  to  science  and  art,  a  diffi- 
of  Science,  culfcy  which  threatens  our  whole 
theory.  Can  it  be  claimed,  it  may  be  asked,  that 
devotion  to  science  or  art  constitutes  goodness  in 
the  same  sense  that  devotion  to  the  interests  of 
one's  family  or  state  constitutes  it  ?  No  one  doubts 
that  a  good  father  or  a  good  citizen  is  a  good  man, 
in  so  far  forth.  Are  we  ready  to  say  that  a  good 
chemist  or  good  carpenter,  or  good  musician  is,  in 
so  far,  a  good  man  ?  In  a  word,  is  there  not  a 
reference  to  the  good  of  persons  present  in  one  case 
and  absent  in  another,  and  does  not  its  absence 
preclude  the  scientific  and  artistic  activities  from 
any  share,  as  such,  in  the  moral  end  ? 

It  must  be  remembered  that  the  moral  end  does 
not  refer  to  some  consequence  which  happens,  de 
/acto,  to  be  reached.  It  refers  to  an  end  willed-, 
i.  e.,  to  an  idea  held  to  and  realized  as  an  idea.  And 
this  fact  shows  us  the  way  to  meet  the  query,  in 


114 

part  at  least.  If,  when  we  say  good  carpenter,  or 
good  merchant,  we  are  speaking  from  the  stand- 
point of  results,  independently  of  the  idea  con- 
ceived as  end  in  the  mind  of  the  agent;  if  we  mean 
simply,  'we  like  what  that  man  does',  then  the 
term  good  has  no  moral  value.  A  man  may  paint 
'  good '  pictures  and  not  be,  in  so  far,  a  good  man, 
but  in  this  sense  a  man  may  do  a  great  deal  of 
'  good',  and  yet  not  be  a  good  man.  It  was  agreed 
at  the  outset  that  moral  goodness  pertains  to  the 
kind  of  idea  or  end  which  a  man  clings  to,  and  not 
to  what  he  happens  to  effect  visibly  to  others. 

If  a  scientific  man  pursues  truth  as  a  mere 
means  to  reputation,  to  wealth,  etc.,  we  do  not  (or 
should  not)  hesitate  to  call  him  immoral. 

This  dops  not  mean  that  if  he  thinks  of  the  repu- 
tation, or  of  weath,  he  is  immoral,  for  he  may  foresee 
wealth  and  the  reputation  as  necessarily  bound  up  in 
what  he  is  doing;  it  may  become  a  part  of  the  end.  It 
means  that  if  knowledge  of  truth  is  a  mere  means  to 
an  end  beyond  it,  the  man  is  immoral. 

What  reason  is  there  why  we  should  not  call  him 

moral  if  he  does  his  work  for  its   own  sake,  from 

interest  in  this  cause  which  takes  him  outside  his 

"own  miserable  individuality",  in  Mill's   phrase? 

After  all,  the  phrase  a  '  good  father  '  means  but  a 

character  manifesting  itself  in  certain  relations,  as 

is  right  according  to  these  relations ;  the  phrase  has 

moral  significance  not  in  itself,  but  with  reference 


115 


to  the  end  aimed  at  by  character.  And  so  it  is 
with  the  phrase  '  a  good  carpenter.'  That  also 
means  devotion  of  character  to  certain  outer  rela- 
tions for  their  own  sake.  These  relations  may  not 
be  so  important,  but  that  is  not  lack  of  moral 
meaning. 

XXXVII, 

Adjustment        So  far  we  have  been  discussing 
to  the    moral  ideal    in  terms  of  its 

Environment,  inner  side  —  capacity,  interest. 
We  shall  now  discuss  it  on  its  outer  or  objective 
side — as  '  adjustment  to  environment '  in  the  phrase 
made  familiar  by  the  evolutionists.  Certain  cau- 
tions, however,  must  be  noted  in  the  use  of  the 
phrase.  We  must  keep  clearly  in  mind  the  rela- 
tivity of  environment  to  inner  capacity;  that  it  ex- 
ists only  as  one  element  of  function.  Even  a  plant 
must  do  something  more  than  adjust  itself  to  a 
fixed  environment;  it  must  assert  itself  against  its 
surroundings,  subordinating  them  and  transforming 
them  into  material  and  nutriment;  and,  on  the 
surface  of  things,  it  is  evident  that  transformation 
of  existing  circumstances  is  moral  duty  rather  than 
mere  reproduction  of  them.  The  environment 
must  bs  plastic  to  the  ends  of  the  agent. 

But  admitting  that  environment  is  made  what  it 
is  by  the  powers  and  aims  of  the  agent,  what 
sense  shall  we  attribute  to  the  term  adjustment? 


116 

Not^bare  conformity  to  circumstances,  nor  bare  ex- 
ternal reproduction  of  them,  even  when  circum- 
stances are  taken  in  their  proper  moral  meaning. 
The  child  in  the  family  who  simply  adjusts  himself 
to  his  relationships  in  the  family,  may  be  living  a 
moral  life  only  in  outward  seeming.  The  citizen 
of  the  state  may  transgress  no  laws  of  the  state,  he 
may  punctiliously  fulfill  every  contract,  and  yet  be 
a  selfish  man.  True  adjustment  must  consist  in 
willing  the  maintenance  and  development  of  moral 
surroundings  as  one's  own  end.  The  child  must 
take  the  spirit-  of  the  family  into  himself  and  live 
out  this  spirit  according  to  his  special  membership 
in  the  family.  So  a  soldier  in  the  army,  a  friend 
in  a  mutual  association,  etc.  Adjustment  to  intel- 
lectual environment  is  not  mere  conformity  of  ideas 
to  facts.  It  is  the  living  assimilation  of  these  facts 
into  one's  own  intellectual  life,  and  maintaining 
and  asserting  them  as  truth. 

There  are  environments  existing  prior  to  the 
activities  of  any  individual  agent;  the  family,  for 
example,  is  prior  to  the  moral  activity  of  a  child 
bornpnto  it,  but  the  point  is  to  see  that  '  adjust- 
ment', to|^have  a  moral  sense,  means  making  the  en- 
vironment a  reality  for  one's  self.  A  true  descrip- 
tion of  the  case  would  say  that  the  child  takes  for 
his  own  end,  ends  already  existing  for  the  wills  of 
others.  And,  in  making  them  his  own,  he  creates  and 


117 

supports  for  himself  an  environment  that  already 
exists  for  others.  In  such  cases  there  is  no  special 
transformation  of  the  existing  environment;  there 
is  simply  the  process  of  making  it  the  environment 
for  one's  self.  So  in  learning,  the  child  simply  ap- 
propriates to  himself  the  intellectual  environment 
already  in  existence  for  others.  But  in  the  activity 
of  the  man  of  science  there  is  more  than  such  per- 
sonal reproduction  and  creation;  there  is  increase, 
or  even  reconstruction  of  the  prior  environment. 
While  the  ordinary  citizen  hardly  does  more  than 
make  his  own  the  environment  of  ends  and  inter- 
ests already  sustained  in  the  wills  of  others,  the 
moral  reformer  may  remake  the  whole.  But 
whether  one  case  or  the  other,  adjustment  is  not 
outer  conformity;  it  is  living  realization  of  certain 
relations  in  and  through  the  will  of  the  agent. 

XXXVIII. 
The  Moral  End  is  the  Since  the  perform- 
Real  ization  of  ance  of  function  is, 
a  Community  of  Wilis,  on  the  other  side,  the 
creation,  perpetuation,  and  further  development  of 
an  environment,  of  relations  to  the  wills  of  others, 
its  performance  is  a  common  good.  It  satisfies 
others  who  participate  in  the  environment.  The 
member  of  the  family,  of  the  state,  etc.,  in  exer- 
cising his  function,  contributes  to  the  whole  of 
which  he  is   a  member  by  realizing  its  spirit  in 


118 


himself.  But  the  question  discussed  in  section 
XXXVI  recurs  under  another  aspect.  Granting 
that  the  satisfying  of  personal  interests  realizes  a 
common  good,  what  shall  we  say  of  the  impersonal 
interests — interests  in  science  and  art.  Is  the 
good  carpenter  or  chemist  not  only  in  so  far  a  good 
man,  but  also  a  good  social  member?  In  other 
words,  does  every  form  of  moral  activity  realize  a 
common  good,  or  is  the  moral  end  partly  social, 
partly  non- social? 

One  objection  sometimes  brought  to  the  doctrine 
that  the  moral  end  is  entirely  social,  may  be  now 
briefly  dismissed.  This  is  the  objection  that  a  man 
has  moral  duties  toward  himself.  Certainly,  but  what 
of  himself  f  If  he  is  essentially  a  social  member,  his 
duties  toward  himself  have  a  social  basis  and  bearing. 
The  only  relevant  question  is  whether  one  is  wholly  a 
social  member— whether  scientific  and  artistic  activi- 
ties may  not  be  non-social. 

The  ground  here  taken  is  that  the  moral  end  is 
wholly  social.  This  does  not  mean  that  science 
and  art  are  means  to  some  social  welfare  beyond 
themselves.  We  have  already  stated  that  even  the 
production  of  utilities  must,  as  moral,  be  its  own 
end.  The  position  then  is  that  intellectual  and 
artistic  interests  are  themselves  social,  when  consid- 
ered in  the  completeness  of  their  relations — that  in- 
terest in  the  development  of  intelligence  is,  in  and 
of  itself,  interest  in  the  well-being  of  society. 

Unless  this  be  true  there  is  no  moral  end  at  all, 


119 


but  only  moral  ends.  There  is  no  comprehensive 
unity  in  life,  but  a  number  of  ends  which,  being 
irreducible  to  a  common  principle,  must  be  com- 
bined on  the  best  principle  of  compromise  avail- 
able. We  have  no  'The  Good',  but  an  aggregate  of 
fragmentary  ends. 

It  iielps  nothing  to  say  that  this  necessary  unity  is 
found  in  the  self  to  be  realized,  unless  we  are  pointed 
to  something  in  the  self  that  unites  the  social  and  non- 
social  functions.  Our  objection  is  that  the  separation 
of  intellectual  interests  from  social  makes  a  chasm  in 
the  self. 

For  the  same  reason  it  follows  that  in  the  case 
of  a  collision  of  social  with  intellectual  ends — say 
the  conflict  of  a  man's  interests  as  a  member  of  a 
family  with  his  interests  in  new  scientific  discovery 
— no  reconciliation  is  possible.  If  the  interests  are 
forms  of  social  interest,  there  is  a  common  end  in 
both,  on  the  basis  of  which  the  conflict  can  be  re- 
solved. While  such  considerations  do  not  prove 
that  there  is  but  one  end,  and  that  social,  they  may 
well  make  us  hesitate  about  carelessly  taking  a 
position  of  which  they  are  the  logical  consequence. 

Of  course,  every  one  recognizes  that  a  certain 
amount  of  scientific  and  artistic  interest  is  social 
in  character.  A  certain  amount  of  interest  in  truth, 
or  in  intelligence,  a  certain  amount  of  susceptibility 
to  beauty,  a  certain  amount  of  devotion  to  utility, 
are  universally  recognized  to  be  necessary  to  make 


120 


judicious,  agreeable  and  eflScient  social  members. 
The  whole  system  of  modern  education  has  mean- 
ing only  on  this  supposition. 

More  than  this:  A  certain  amount  of  intelli- 
gence, and  a  certain  amount  of  susceptibility  to 
embodied  ideals,  must  exist  to  give  moral  conduct. 
A  moral  end  is,  as  we  have  seen,  always  a  concep- 
tion, an  idea.  The  very  act  of  bringing  conduct 
out  of  the  impulsive  into  the  moral  sphere,  depends 
upon  the  development  of  intelligence  so  as  to  trans- 
form a  feeling  into  the  perception  of  a  situation. 
And,  as  we  watch  moral  development  from  child- 
hood to  maturity,  is  it  not  evident  that  progress 
consists  in  power  to  conceive  of  larger  and  better 
defined  ends?  to  analyze  the  situation  which  de- 
mands active  response,  the  function  which  needs 
exercise,  into  specific  relations,  instead  of  taking  it 
partially  or  even  upon  some  one  else's  say  so? 
Conduct,  so  far  as  not  based  upon  an  intelligent 
recognition  and  realization  of  the  relationships  in- 
volved, is  either  sentimental,  or  merely  habitual — 
in  the  former  case  immoral,  and  in  the  latter  fail- 
ing of  the  complete  morality  possible. 

If  the  necessary  part  played  in  conduct  by  artis- 
tic cultivation  is  not  so  plain,  it  is  largely  because 
*Art'  has  been  made  such  an  unreal  Fetich — a 
sort  of  superfine  and  extraneous  polish  to  be  acquired 
only  by  specially  cultivated  people.    In  reality,  liv- 


121 


ing  is  itself  the  supreme  art ;  it  requires  fineness  of 
touch;  skill  and  thoroughness  of  workmanship; 
susceptible  response  and  delicate  adjustment  to  a 
situation  apart  from  reflective  analysis ;  instinctive 
perception  of  the  proper  harmonies  of  act  and  act, 
of  man  and  man.  Active  art  is  the  embodiment  of 
ideals;  the  clothing  of  ideas  otherwise  abstract 
in  their  peculiar  and  fit  garb  of  concrete  outward 
detail;  passive  art  is  the  quick  and  accurate 
response  to  such  embodiments  as  are  already 
made.  What  were  human  conduct  without  the  one 
and  the  other  ? 

Granting  the  necessity  of  knowledge  and  of 
its  artistic  application  in  conduct,  the  ques- 
tion arises  as  to  where  the  line  is  to  be  drawn. 
Evidently,  if  anywhere,  at  specialisms,  remote  phil- 
osophic or  mathematical  endeavors;  life-times 
spent  in  inventive  attempts  without  appreciable 
outcome.  But  to  draw  the  line  is  not  easy.  The 
remote  of  one  generation  is  the  social  tool  of  the 
next;  the  abstract  mathematics  and  physics  of  the 
sixteenth  and  seventeenth  centuries  are  the  great 
social  forces  of  the  nineteenth — the  locomotive,  the 
telegraph,  the  telephone,  etc.  And  how,  in  any 
case,  can  we  tell  a  scientific  investigator  that  up  to 
a  certain  experiment  or  calculation  his  work  may 
be  social,  beyond  that,  not  ?  All  that  we  can  say  is 
that  beyond  a  certain  point  its  social  character  is  not 


122 


obvious  to  sense  and  that  the  work  must  be  carried 
on  by  faith. 

Thus  it  is  that  we  dispose  of  objections  like 
Bradley's  (Ethical  Studies,  p.  202):  "Nothing  is 
easier  than  to  suppose  a  life  of  art  or  speculation 
which,  as  far  as  we  can  see,  though  true  to  itself, 
has,  so  far  as  others  are  concerned,  been  sheer 
waste  or  even  loss,  and  which  knew  that  it  was  so." 
That  we  can  not  see  any  social  result  in  such  cases 
has  nothing  to  do  with  the  question  whether  or  not 
the  interests  themselves  are  social.  We  may  imag- 
ine a  life  of  philanthropic  activity,  say  of  devotion 
to  emancipation  of  slaves  in  a  country  wholly  given 
over  to  slavery,  or  of  a  teacher  in  an  unenlightened 
country,  which,  as  far  as  we  can  see,  (though,  in 
this  case,  as  in  the  one  referred  to  by  Mr.  Bradley, 
everything  depends  upon  how  far  we  can  see )  has 
been  sheer  waste,  so  far  as  influence  on  others  is 
concerned.  The  point  is  whether  in  such  cases  the 
life  lived  is  not  one  of  devotion  to  the  interests  of 
humanity  as  such. 

We  have  been  trying  to  show  that  everyone  admits 
that  science  and  art,  up  to  a  certain  point,  are  social, 
and  that  to  draw  a  line  where  they  cease  to  be  so,  is  in 
reality  to  draw  a  line  where  we  cease  to  see  their  social 
character.  That  we  should  cease  to  see  it,  is  necessary 
in  the  case  of  almost  every  advance.  Just  because  the 
new  scientific  movement  is  new,  we  can  realize  its 
social  effects  only  afterwards.  But  it  may  be  ques- 
tioned whether  the  motive  which  actuates  the  man  of 


123 


science  is  not,  when  fully  realized,  2^  faith  in  the  social 
bearing  of  what  he  is  doing:.  If  we  were  to  go  into  a 
metaphysical  analysis,  the  question  would  have  to 
be  raised  whether  a  barely  intellectual  fact  or  theory 
be  not  a  pure  abstraction— an  unreality  if  kept  apart 
entirely  from  the  activities  of  men  in  relation  to  one 
another. 

XXXIX. 

Science  Let  us  consider  the  problem  on  its 
and  other  side.  What  kind  of  an  interest  is 
Art  our  interest  in  persons,   our  distinct- 

as  ively    social  interest?       Suppose    we 

Necessary  attempt  to  separate   our   interests   in 
Factors     truth,  beauty,  and  use  from  our  inter- 
of  est  in  persons:      What  remains  in  the 

Social  persons  to  he  interested  inf  Is  not  a 
Welfare,  necessary  part  of  out  interest  in  per- 
sons, an  interest  in  them  as  beings  fulfilling  their 
respective  intellectual  and  artistic  capacities;  and 
if  we  cut  this  out  of  our  social  interest,  have  we  not 
maimed  and  stunted  our  interest  in  persons  ?  We 
wish  the  fullest  life  possible  to  ourselves  and  to 
others.  And  the  fullest  life  means  largely  a  com- 
plete and  free  development  of  capacities  in  knowl- 
edge and  production — production  of  beauty  and  use. 
Our  interest  in  others  is  not  satisfied  as  long  aa 
their  intelligence  is  cramped,  their  appreciation  of 
truth  feeble,  their  emotions  hard  and  uncompre- 
hensive,  their  powers  of  production  compressed. 
To  will  their  true  good  is  to  will  the  freeing  of  all 


124 


such  gifts  to  the  highest  degree.  Shall  we  say- 
that  their  true  good  requires  that  they  shall  go  to 
the  point  of  understanding  algebra,  but  not  quater- 
nions, of  understanding  ordinary  mechanics,  but 
not  to  working  out  an  electro -magnetic  theory  of 
light?  to  ability  to  appreciate  ordinary  chords  and 
and  tunes,  but  not  to  the  attempt  to  make  further 
developments  in  music  ? 

And  this  throws  light  upon  the  case  referred  to 
by  Mr.  Bradley.  Social  welfare  demands  that  the 
individual  be  permitted  to  devote  himself  to  the 
fulfilling  of  any  scientific  or  artistic  capacity  that 
he  finds  within  himself — provided,  of  course,  it  does 
not  conflict  with  some  more  important  capacity — 
irrespective  of  results.  To  say  to  a  man:  You  may 
devote  yourself  to  this  gift,  provided  you  demon- 
strate beforehand  its  social  bearing,  would  be  to 
talk  nonsense.  The  new  discovery  is  not  yet  made. 
It  is  absolutely  required  by  the  interests  of  a  pro- 
gressive society  that  it  allow  freedom  to  the  indi- 
vidual to  develop  such  functions  as  he  finds  in 
himself,  irrespective  of  any  proved  social  effect. 
Here,  as  elsewhere,  morality  works  by  faith,  not  by- 
sight. 

Indeed  the  ordinary  conception  of  social  inter- 
ests, of  benevolence,  needs  a  large  over-hauling. 
It  is  practically  equivalent  to  doing  something 
directly   for  others — to    one   form  or   another   of 


/ 


125 


charity.  But  this  is  only  negative  morality.  A 
true  social  interest  is  that  which  wills  for  others 
freedom  from  dependence  on  our  direct  help,  which 
wills  to  them  the  self- directed  power  of  exercising, 
in  and  by  themselves,  their  own  functions.  Any 
will  short  of  this  is  not  social  but  selfish,  willing 
the  dependence  of  others  that  we  may  continue 
benignly  altruistic.  The  idea  of  "  giving  pleasure  " 
to  others,  "  making  others  happy",  if  it  means  any- 
thing else  than  securing  conditions  so  that  they 
may  act  freely  in  their  own  satisfaction,  means 
slavery. 

As  society  advances,  social  interest  must  consist 
more  and  more  in  free  devotion  to  intelligence  for 
its  own  sake,  to  science,  art  and  industry,  and  in 
rejoicing  in  the  exercise  of  such  freedom  by  others. 
Meantime,  it  is  truth  which  makes  free. 

See  Spencer,  Data  of  Ethics,  pp.  249-257,  where  this 
doctrine  is  stated  with  great  force. 

Where,  finally,  does  the  social  character  of  sci- 
ence and  art  come  in  ?  Just  here :  they  are  elements 
in  the  perfection  of  individuality,  and  they  are  ele- 
ments whose  very  nature  is  to  be  moving,  not  rigid; 
distributed  from  one  to  another  and  not  monopo- 
listic possessions.  If  there  are  forms  of  science 
and  art  which,  at  present,  are  static,  being  merely 
owned  collections  of  facts,  as  one  may  have  a  col- 
lection of  butterflies  in  a  frame,  or  of  etchings  in  a 


126 


closed  portfolio,  this  is  not  because  they  are  sci- 
ence and  art,  but  imperfect  science  and  art.  To 
complete  their  scientific  and  artistic  character  is  to 
set  these  facts  in  motion;  to  hurl  them  against  the 
world  of  physical  forces  till  new  instruments  of 
man's  activity  are  formed,  and  to  set  them  in  circu- 
lation so  that  others  may  also  participate  in  their 
truth  and  rejoice  in  their  beauty.  So  far  as  scien- 
tific or  artistic  attainments  are  treasured  as  indi- 
vidual possessions,  so  far  it  is  true  that  they  are 
not  social — but  so  far  it  is  also  true  that  they  are 
immoral :  indeed  that  they  are  not  fully  scientific 
or  artistic,  being  subordinated  to  having  certain 
sensations. 

The  intellectual  movement  of  the  last  four  or 
five  centuries  has  resulted  in  an  infinite  specializa- 
tion in  methods,  and  in  an  immense  accumulation 
of  fact.  It  is  quite  true,  since  the  diversity  of  fact 
and  of  method  has  not  yet  been  brought  to  an 
organic  unity,  that  their  social  bearing  is  not  yet 
realized.  But  when  the  unity  is  attained  (as  at- 
tained it  must  be  if  there  is  unity  in  the  object  of 
knowledge),  it  will  pass  into  a  corresponding  unity 
of  practice.  And  then  the  question  as  to  the  social 
character  of  even  the  most  specialized  knowledge 
will  seem  absurd.  It  will  be  to  ask  whether  men 
can  cooperate  better  when  they  do  not  know  than 
when  they  do  know  what  they  want.     Meantime 


J 


127 


the  intellectual  confusion,  and  the  resulting  di- 
vorce of  knowledge  from  practice,  exists.  But  this 
constitutes  a  part  of  the  environment  of  which 
action  must  take  heed.  It  makes  it  one  of  the 
pressing  duties  that  every  man  of  intelligence 
should  do  his  part  in  bringing  out  the  public  and 
common  aspects  of  knowledge.  The  duty  of  the 
present  is  the  socializing  of  intelligence — the  real- 
izing of  its  bearing  upon  social  practice. 

XL. 
The  Ethical  We  have  attempted  to  show  that 
Postulate,  the  various  interests  are  social  in 
their  very  nature.  We  have  not  attempted  to  show 
that  this  can  be  seen  or  proved  in  any  given  case. 
On  the  contrary,  in  most,  if  not  all  cases,  the  agent 
acts  from  a  faith  that,  in  realizing  his  own  capacity, 
he  will  satisfy  the  needs  of  society.  If  he  were 
asked  to  2^^'ove  that  his  devotion  to  his  function 
were  right  because  certain  to  promote  social  good, 
he  might  well  reply:  "  That  is  none  of  my  affair. 
I  have  only  to  work  myself  out  as  strength  and 
opportunity  are  given  me,  and  let  the  results  take 
care  of  themselves.  I  did  not  make  the  world,  and 
if  it  turns  out  that  devotion  to  the  capacity  which 
was  given  me,  and  loyalty  to  the  surroundings  in 
which  I  find  myself  do  not  result  in  good,  I  do  not 
hold  myself  responsible.  But,  after  all,  I  cannot 
believe  that  it  will  so  turn   out.     What  is  really 


128 


good  for  me  '}nust  turn  out  good  for  all,  or  else 
there  is  no  good  in  the  world  at  all."     The  basis, 
in  a  word,  of  moral  conduct,  with  respect  to  the 
exercise  of  function,  is  a  faith  that  moral  self-satis- 
faction (that  is,  satisfaction  in  accordance  with  the 
performance  of  function  as  already  defined)  means 
social  satisfaction — or  the  faith  that  self  and  others 
make  a  true  community.     Now  such  faith  or  con- 
viction is  at  the  basis  of  all  moral  conduct — not 
simply  of  the  scientific  or  artistic.     Interest  in  self 
must  mean   belief  in  one's  business,  conviction  of 
its  legitimacy  and  worth,  even  prior  to  any  sensible 
demonstration.   Under  any  circumstances,  such  dem- 
onstration can  extend  only  to  past  action ;  the  social 
efficiency  of   any   new   end  must  be  a  matter   of 
faith.  "Where  such  faith  is  wanting,  action  becomes 
halting  and  character  weak.     Forcible  action  fails, 
and   its   place   is    taken   by   a  feeble  idealism,   of 
vague  longing  for  that  which  is  not,  or  by  a  pessi- 
mistic and  fruitless  discontent  with  things  as  they 
are — leading,  in  either  case,  to  neglect  of  actual 
and  pressing  duty.     The  basis  of  moral  strength  is 
limitation,    the  resolve  to  be  one's  self  only,  and  to 
be  loyal  to  the  actual  powers  and  surroundings  of 
that   self.     The    saying   of  Carlyle's    about  doing 
the  "  duty  that  lies  nearest ",  and  of  Goethe's  that 
"  America  is   here  or  nowhere ",  both  imply  that 
faith  in  the  existing  moral  capacity  and  environ- 


129 


ment  is  the  basis  of  conduct.  All  fruitful  and 
sound  human  endeavor  roots  in  the  conviction  that 
there  is  something  absolutely  worth  while,  some- 
thing '  divine '  in  the  demands  imposed  by  one's 
actual  situation  and  powers.  In  the  great  moral 
heroes  of  the  world  the  conviction  of  the  worth  of 
their  destiny,  and  of  what  they  were  meant  to  do, 
has  amounted  to  a  kind  of  fatalism.  They  have 
done  not  simply  what  they  could  do,  but  what  they 
must  do. 

On  the  other  hand,  effective  social  interest  is 
based  upon  what  is  vaguely  called  '  faith  in  hu- 
manity ',  or,  more  specifically,  belief  in  the  value  of 
each  man's  individuality,  belief  in  some  particular 
function  which  he  might  exercise,  given  appropri- 
ate conditions  and  stimuli.  Moral  interest  in  others 
must  be  an  interest  in  their  possibilities,  rather 
than  in  their  accomplishments;  or,  better,  in 
their  accomplishments  so  far  as  these  testify 
to  a  fulfilling  of  function — to  a  working  out  of  ca- 
pacity. Sympathy  and  work  for  men  which  do  not 
grow  out  of  faith  in  them  are  a  perfunctory  and 
unfertile  sort  of  thing. 

This  faith  is  generally  analyzed  no  further;  it 
is  left  as  faith  in  one's  'calling '  or  in  'humanity'. 
But  what  is  meant  is  just  this:  in  the  performing 
of  such  special  service  ds  each  is  capable  of,  there 
is  to  be  found  not  only  the  satisfaction  of  self,  but 


130 


also  the  satisfaction  of  the  entire  moral  order,  the 
furthering  of  the  community  in  which  one  lives. 
All  moral  conduct  is  based  upon  such  a  faith;  and 
moral  theory  must  recognize  this  as  the  postulate 
upon  which  it  rests.  In  calling  it  a  postulate,  we 
do  not  mean  that  it  is  a  postulate  which  our  theory 
makes  or  must  make  in  order  to  be  a  theory;  but 
that,  through  analysis,  theory  finds  that  moral 
practice  makes  this  postulate,  and  that  with  its 
reality  the  reality  and  value  of  conduct  are  bound 
up. 

In  calling  it  a  postulate  we  do  not  mean  to  call 
it  unprovable,  much  less  unverifiable,  for  moral 
experience  is  itself,  so  far  as  it  goes,  its  verification. 
But  we  mean  that  the  further  consideration  of  this 
postulate,  its  demonstration  or  (if  the  case  so  be) 
its  refutation,  do  not  belong  to  the  realm  of  ethics 
as  such.  Each  branch  of  human  experience  rests 
upon  some  presupposition  which,  for  that  branch, 
is  ultimate.  The  further  inquiry  into  such  pre- 
suppositions belong  not  to  mathematics,  or  physics, 
or  ethics,  but  to  metaphysics. 

Unless,  then,  we  are  to  extend  our  ethical  theory 
to  inquire  into  the  possibility  and  value  of  moral 
experience,  unless,  that  is,  we  are  to  make  an  ex- 
cursion into  the  metaphysics  of  ethics,  we  have  here 
reached  our  foundation.  The  ethical  postulate,  the 
presupposition  involved  in  conduct,  is  this : 


131 

In  the  realization  of  individuality  there  is 
found  also  the  needed  realization  of  some  com- 
munity  of   persons   of  which  the  individual  is  a 

member;  and,  conversely,  the  agent  WHO  DULY 
SATISFIES  THE  COMMUNITY  IN  WHICH  HE  SHARES,  BY 
THAT    SAME    CONDUCT    SATISFIES    HIMSELF. 

Otherwise  put,  the  postulate  is  that  there  is  a 

community  of  persons;  a  good  which  realized  by 

the  will  of  one   is   made  not   private  but  public. 

It  is  this  unity  of  individuals  as  respects  the   end 

of  action,   this  existence   of   a   practical   common 

good,  that  makes  what  we  call  the  moral  order  of 

the  world. 

Shakespeare  has  stated  the  postulate- 
To  thine  ownself  be  true; 
And  it  must  follow,  as  the  night  the  day, 
Thou  can'st  not  then  be  false  to  any  man. 

Its  significance  may  be  further  developed  by 
comparing  it  with  the  scientific  postulate. 

All  science  rests  upon  the  conviction  of  the  thor- 
ough-going and  permanent  unity  of  the  world  of 
objects  known — a  unity  which  is  sometimes  termed 
the  '  uniformity  of  nature '  or  the  '  reign  of  law ' ; 
without  this  conviction  that  objects  are  not  mere 
isolated  and  transitory  appearances,  but  are  con- 
nected together  in  a  system  by  laws  or  relations, 
science  would  be  an  impossibility.  Moral  experience 
makes  for  the  world  of  practice  an  assumption  anal- 
ogous in  kind  to  that  which  intellectual  experience 


132 

makes  for  the  world  of  knowledge.  And  just  as  it 
is  not  the  affair  of  science,  as  such,  or  even  of  logic 
(the  theory  of  science)  to  justify  this  presupposi- 
tion of  science,  or  to  do  more  than  show  its  presence 
in  intellectual  experience,  so  it  is  not  the  business 
of  conduct,  or  even  of  ethics  (the  theory  of  con- 
duct) to  justify  what  we  have  termed  the  '  ethical 
postulate '.  In  each  case  the  further  inquiry  be- 
longs to  metaphysics. 

XLI. 
Does  the  End         We  have  now  concluded  that 
Proposed        an  end  which  may  be  termed  in- 
Serve  as  a      differently    '  The  Realization    of 
Criterion    of     Individuality',  'The  Performance 
Conduct?       of  Specific  Functions',  'The  Sat- 
isfaction of  Interests',  'The  Realization  of  a  Com- 
munity of   Individuals '  is  the  moral    end.     Will 
this  end  serve  the  two  aims  (see  Sec.  XVI)  required 
of  a  criterion,  or  standard:     (1)  Will  it  unify  in- 
dividual conduct  ?     ( 2  '  Will   it  afford  a  common 
good?     We  have  just  been  endeavoring  to  show 
that  it  does  both  of  these  things;  that  as  the  reali- 
zation of  one's  specific  capacity,  it  unifies  individual 
conduct,  and  that,  as  the  performance  of  function,  it 
serves  to  satisfy  the  entire  community.     To  take 
up  just  these  points,  accordingly,  would  involve  a 
repetition   of   what  has  been    said,  and   we    shall 
therefore  take  up  instead  some  aspects  of  the  indi- 


133 


vidual  and  social  unity  of  conduct,  not  already  con- 
sidered. 

1.  The  System  of  Individual  Conduct.  We 
must  be  careful  not  to  interpret  the  idea  of 
specific  function  too  rigidly  or  abstractly.  It  does 
not  mean  that  each  one  has  some  supreme  mission 
in  life  to  which  everything  else  must  be  sacrificed 
— that  a  man  is  to  be  an  artist,  or  a  soldier,  or  a 
student,  or  a  day-laborer  and  nothing  else.  On  the 
contrary,  the  idea  of  function  is  that  which  com- 
prehends all  the  various  sides  of  life,  and  it  cannot 
be  narrowed  below  the  meaning  we  have  already 
given:  the  due  adjustment  of  capacity  and  sur- 
roundings. Wherever  there  is  any  capacity  or  any 
circumstance,  no  matter  how  trivial,  there  is  some- 
thing included  in  the  exercise  of  function,  and, 
therefore  to  be  satisfied — according  to  its  place,  of 
course,  in  the  whole  of  life.  Amusements  and  all 
the  minor  details  of  life  are  included  within  the 
scope  of  morality.  They  are  elements  in  the  exer- 
cise of  function,  and  their  insignificance  and  triv- 
iality does  not  exclude  them  from  the  grasp  of 
duty  and  of  the  good.  It  is  a  mistake  to  suppose 
that  because  it  is  optional  or  indifferent — as  it  con- 
stantly is — what  acts  among  the  minor  details  of 
life  are  to  be  done  or  left  undone,  or  unimportant 
whether  they  are  done  or  left  undone  at  all,  there- 
fore such  acts  have  no  moral  value.     Morality  con- 


134 

sists  in  treating  tliem  just  as  they  are — if  they  are 

slight  or  trivial  they  are  to  be  performed  as  slight 

and  trivial.     Morality  does  not  simply  permit  the 

performance  of  such  acts,  but  demands  it.     To  try 

to  make,  in  the  interests  of  duty,  a  serious  matter 

out  of  every  detail  of  life  would  be  immoral — as 

much  so,  in  kind,  as  to  make  light  of  momentous 

matters. 

See  Alexander,  Op.  cit.  pp.  53-54. 
Bradley,  Op.  cit.,  pp.  194-197. 

Consider,  also,  how  this  conception  of  the  end 
stands  in  definite  relation  to  concrete  acts;  how  it 
explains  the  possibility  of  decision  as  to  whether 
this  or  that  proposed  act  is  right.  We  do  not  have 
to  trace  the  connection  of  the  act  with  some  end 
beyond,  as  pleasure,  or  abstract  law.  We  have 
only  to  analyze  the  act  itself.  We  have  certain 
definite  and  wholly  concrete  facts ;  the  given  capac- 
ity of  the  person  at  the  given  moment,  and  his 
given  surroundings.  The  judgment  as  to  the 
nature  of  these  facts  is,  in  and  of  itself,  a  judgment 
as  to  the  act  to  be  done.  The  question  is  not: 
What  is  the  probability  that  this  act  will  result  in 
the  balance  of  maximum  pleasure;  it  is  not  what 
general  rule  can  we  hunt  up  under  which  to  bring 
this  case.  It  is  simply:  What  is  this  casef  The 
moral  act  is  not  that  which  satisfies  some  far-away 
principle,  hedonistic  or  transcendental.     It  is  that 


135 


which  meets  the  present,  actual  situation.  Difficul- 
ties indeed,  arise,  but  they  are  simply  the  difficulty 
of  resolving  a  complex  case;  they  are  intellectual, 
not  moral.  The  case  made  out,  the  moral  end 
stands  forth.  No  extraneous  manipulation,  to  bring 
the  case  under  some  foreign  end,  is  required. 

And  this  suggests  the  elasticity  of  the  criterion. 
In  fact  moral  conduct  is  entirely  individualized. 
It  is  where,  when,  how  and  of  whom.  There  has 
been  much  useless  discussion  as  to  the  absolute  or 
relative  character  of  morals — useless  because  the 
terms  absolute  and  relative  are  not  defined.  If  abso- 
lute is  taken  to  mean  immobile  and  rigid,  it  is  any- 
thing but  desirable  that  morals  should  be  absolute. 
If  the  physical  world  is  a  scene  of  movement,  in 
which  there  is  no  rest,  it  is  a  poor  compliment  to 
pay  the  moral  world  to  conceive  of  it  as  static  and 
lifeless.  A  rigid  criterion  in  a  world  of  develop- 
ing social  relations  would  speedily  prove  no  crite- 
rion at  all.  It  would  be  an  abstract  rule,  taking  no 
account  of  the  individualized  character  of  each  act; 
its  individuality  of  capacity  and  of  surroundings, 
of  time,  place  and  relationships  involved.  A  truly 
absolute  criterion  is  one  which  adjusts  itself  to  each 
case  according  to  the  specific  nature  of  the  case; 
one  which  moves  with  the  moving  world.  On  the 
other  hand,  if  relative  means  uncertain  in  application, 
changing  in  time  and  place  without  reason  for  change 


136 


in  the  facts  themselves,  then  certainly  the  criterion  is 
not  relative.  If  it  means  taking  note  of  all  con- 
crete relations  involved,  it  is  relative.  The  abso- 
luteness, in  fine,  of  the  standard  of  action  consists 
not  in  some  rigid  statement,  but  in  never- failing 
application.  Universality  here,  as  elsewhere,  re- 
sides not  in  a  thing,  but  in  a  way,  a  method  of 
action.  The  absolute  standard  is  the  one  applica- 
ble to  all  deeds,  and  the  conception  of  the  exercise 
of  function  is  thus  absolute,  covering  all  conduct 
from  the  mainly  impulsive  action  of  the  savage  to 
the  most  complex  reaches  of  modern  life. 

Aristotle's  well  known  theory  of  the  'mean' 
seems  to  have  its  bearing  here.  "It  is  possible,"  he 
says  (Peters'  trans,  of  Ethics,  p.  46),  "to  feel  fear, 
confidence,  desire,  anger,  pity,  and  generally  to  be 
affected  pleasantly  and  painf  ulh%  either  too  much  or 
too  little— in  either  case  wrongfully;  but  to  be 
affected  thus  at  the  right  times,  and  on  the  right  occa- 
sions, and  toward  the  right  persons,  and  with  the 
right  object  and  in  the  right  fashions,  is  the  mean 
course  and  the  best  course,  and  these  are  characteris- 
tics of  virtue."  The  right  time,  occasion,  person,  pur- 
pose and  fashion — what  is  it  but  the  complete  indi- 
vidualization of  conduct  in  order  to  meet  the  whole 
demands  of  the  whole  situation,  instead  of  some  ab- 
straction ?  And  what  else  do  we  mean  by  fit,  due, 
proper,  right  action,  but  that  which  just  hits  the 
mark,  without  falling  short  or  deflecting,  and,  to  mix 
the  metaphor,  without  slopping  over? 

2.  The  system  of  social  conduct,  or  common 
good.     Moral  conduct  springs  from  the  faith  that 


137 


all  right  action  is  social  and  its  purpose  is  to  justify 
this  faith  by  working  out  the  social  values  in- 
volved. The  term  '  moral  community '  can  mean 
only  a  unity  of  action,  made  what  it  is  by  the  co- 
operating activities  of  diverse  individuals.  There  is 
unity  in  the  work  of  a  factory,  not  in  spite  of,  but 
because  of  the  division  of  labor.  Each  workman 
forms  the  unity  not  by  doing  the  same  that  every- 
body else  does,  or  by  trying  to  do  the  whole,  but  by 
doing  his  specific  part.  The  unity  is  the  one  ac- 
tivity which  their  varied  activities  make.  And  so 
it  is  with  the  moral  activity  of  society  and  the 
activities  of  individuals.  The  more  individualized 
the  functions,  the  more  perfect  the  unity.  (See 
section  LII. ) 

The  exercise  of  function  by  an  agent  serves, 
then,  both  to  define  and  to  unite  him.  It  makes  him 
a  distinct  social  member  at  the  same  time  that  it 
makes  him  a  member.  Possession  of  peculiar  ca- 
pacities, and  special  surroundings  mark  one  per- 
son off  from  another  and  make  him  an  individual; 
and  the  due  adjustment  of  capacities  to  surround- 
ings (in  the  exercise  of  function)  effects,  therefore, 
the  realization  of  individuality — the  realization  of 
what  we  specifically  are  as  distinct  from  others. 
At  the  same  time,  this  distinction  is  not  isolation; 
the  exercise  of  function  is  the  performing  of  a 
special  service  without  which  the  social  whole  is  de- 


138 

fective.  Individuality  means  not  separation,  but 
defined  position  in  a  whole;  special  aptitude  in 
constituting  the  whole. 

We  are  now  in  a  position  to  take  up  the  consid- 
eration of  the  two  other  fundamental  ethical  con- 
ceptions— obligation  and  freedom.  These  ideas 
answer  respectively  to  the  two  sides  of  the  exercise 
of  function.  On  the  one  hand,  the  performing  of 
a  function  realizes  the  social  whole.  Man  is  thus 
*  bound  '  by  the  relations  necessary  to  constitute 
this  whole.  He  is  subject  to  the  conditions  which 
the  existence  and  growth  of  the  social  unity  im- 
pose. He  is,  in  a  word,  under  obligation;  the  per- 
formance of  his  function  is  duty  owed  to  the  com- 
munity of    which  he  is  a  member. 

But  on  the  other  hand,  activity  in  the  way  of 
function  realizes  the  individual;  it  is  what  makes 
him  an  individual,  or  distinct  person.  In  the  per- 
formance of  his  own  function  the  agent  satisfies  his 
own  interests  and  gains  power.  In  it  is  found  his 
freedom. 

Obligation  thus  corresponds  to  the  social  satis- 
faction, freedom  to  the  seZ/- satisfaction,  involved  in 
the  exercise  of  function ;  and  they  can  no  more 
be  separated  from  each  other  than  the  correlative 
satisfaction  can  be.  One  has  to  realize  himself  as 
a  member  of  a  community.  In  this  fact  are  found 
both  freedom  and  duty. 


139 
Chapter  II.— THE   IDEA  OF  OBLIGATION, 


XLII. 

Theories  Regarding  The  idea  of  obligation 
Moral  Authority,  or  duty  has  two  sides. 
There  is  the  idea  of  law,  of  something  which  con- 
trols conduct,  and  there  is  the  consciousness  of  the 
necessity  of  conforming  to  this  law.  There  is,  of 
course,  no  separation  between  the  two  sides,  but 
the  consideration  of  the  latter  side — the  recogni- 
tion of  obligation — may  be  best  dealt  with  in  dis- 
cussing conscience.  Here  we  shall  deal  simply  with 
the  fact  that  there  is  such  a  thing  in  conduct  as 
law  controlling  action,  and  constituting  obligation. 
Theories  regarding  obligation  may,  for  our  pur- 
poses, be  subdivided  into  those  which  make  its 
exercise  restraint  or  coercion  (and  which  therefore 
hold  that  in  perfect  moral  conduct,  duty  as  such 
disappears);  and  those  which  hold  that  obliga- 
tion is  a  normal  element  in  conduct  as  such,  and 
that  it  is  not,  essentially,  but  only  under  certain 
circumstances,  coercive.  Of  the  former  type,  some 
theories  (mainly  the  hedonistic)  regard  the  re- 
straint as  originally  imposed  from  without  upon 
the  desires  of  the  individual,  while  others  (as  the 
Kantian)  regard  it  as  imposed  by  man's  reason 
upon  his  desires  and  inclinations. 


140 

XLIII. 
Bain's  It  is  obvious  that  the   question 

Theory  of  of  obligation  presents  considerable 
Obligation,  difficulty  to  the  hedonistic  school. 
If  the  end  of  conduct  is  pleasure,  as  the  satisfac- 
tion of  desire,  why  should  not  each  desire  be  satis- 
fied, if  possible,  as  it  arises,  and  thus  pleasure 
secured?  What  meaning  is  there  in  the  term 
'  duty '  or  '  obligation '  if  the  moral  end  or  good 
coincides  wholly  with  the  natural  end  of  the  incli- 
nations themselves  ?  It  is  evident,  at  all  events,  that 
the  term  can  have  significance  only  if  there  is 
some  cause  preventing  the  desires  as  they  arise 
from  natural  satisfaction.  The  problem  of  obliga- 
tion in  hedonism  thus  becomes  the  problem  of 
discovering  that  outside  force  which  restrains,  or,  at 
least,  constrains,  the  desire  from  immediate  gratifi- 
cation. According  to  Bain,  this  outside  force  is 
social  disapprobation  manifested  through  the  form 
of  punishment. 

"  I  consider  that  the  proper  meaning-,  or  import  of 
the  terms  [duty,  obligation]  refers  to  that  class  of 
action  which  is  enforced  by  the  sanction  of  punish- 
ment  The  powers  that  impose  the  obligatory 

sanction  are  Law  and  Societj^,  or  the  community  acting 
through  the  Government  by  public  judicial  acts,  and 
apart  from  the  Government  by  the  unofficial  expres- 
sions of  disapprobation  and  the  exclusion  from  social 
good  offices".  Emotions  and  Will,  p.  286.  See  also  pp. 
321-323  and  p.  527. 


141 


Through  this  '  actual  and  ideal  avoidance  of  cer- 
tain acts  and  dread  of  punishment '  the  individual 
learns  to  forego  the  gratification  of  some  of  his  nat- 
ural impulses,  and  learns  also  to  cultivate  and  even 
to  originate  desires  not  at  first  spontaneous.  "  The 
child  is  open  from  the  first  to  the  blame  and  praise 
of  others,  and  thus  is  led  to  do  or  avoid  certain  acts". 

On  the  model,  however,  of  the  action  of  this 
external  authority  there  grows  up,  in  time  an 
internal  authority — "  an  ideal  resemblance  of  public 
authority  "  (p.  287),  or  "  a  fac  simile  of  the  system 
of  government  around  us"  (p.  313). 

"The  sentimeDt,  at  first  formed  and  cultivated  by 
the  relations  of  actual  command  and  obedience,  may 
come  at  last  to  stand  upon  an  independent  foundation. 

When  the    youn;^    mind,  accustomed   at  the 

outset  to  implicitly  obeying  any  set  of  rules  is  suffi- 
ciently advanced  to  appreciate  the  motive— the  utilities 
or  the  sentiment  that  led  to  their  imposition  —  the 

character  of  the  conscience  is  entirely  changed 

Regard  is  now  had  to  the  intent  and  meaning  of  the 
law,  and  not  to  the  mere  fact  of  its  being  prescribed 
by  some  power  "  (E.  and  W.,  p.  318). 

But  when  the  sense  of  obligation  becomes  entirely 
detached  from  the  social  sanction,  "even  then  the 
notion,  sentiment  or  form  of  duty  is  derived  from 
what  society  imposes,  although  the  particular  matter 
is  quite  different.  Social  obligation  develops  in  the 
mind  originally  the  feeling  and  habit  of  obligation, 
and  this  remains  although  the  particular  articles  are 
changed"  (page  319,  note).  Cf.  also  Bain,  Moral  Sci- 
ence, pp.  20-21  and  41-43. 


142 

XLIV. 
Spencer's  Spencer's  theory  is,  in  substance, 
Theory  of  an  enlarged  and  better  analyzed 
Obligation,  restatement  of  Bain's  theory.  Bain 
nowhere  clearly  states  in  what  the  essence  of  obli- 
gation consists,  when  it  becomes  independent,  when 
the  internal  fac  simile  is  formed.  Why  should  I 
not  gratify  my  desires  as  I  please  in  case  social 
pressure  is  absent  or  lets  up?  Spencer  supplies 
the  missing  eletnent.  According  to  him,  "the  essen- 
tial trait  in  the  moral  consciousness  is  the  control 
of  some  feeling  or  feelings  by  some  other  feeling 
or  feelings"  (Data  of  Ethics,  p.  113).  The  kind 
of  feeling  which  controls  is  that  which  is  more  com- 
plex and  which  relates  to  more  remote  ends;  or, 
we  are  '  obliged '  to  give  up  more  immediate,  special 
and  direct  pleasures  for  the  sake  of  securing  more 
general,  remote  and  indirect  ones.  Obligation,  in 
its  essence,  is  the  surrender  or  subordination  of 
present  to  future  satisfaction.  This  control,  re- 
straint, or  suppression  may  be  '  independent '  or, 
self-imposed,  but  is  not  so  at  first,  either  in  the 
man  or  in  the  child.  Prior  to  self-restraint  are  the 
restraints  imposed  by  the  "  visible  ruler,  the  invisi- 
ble ruler  and  society  at  large  " — the  policeman,  the 
priest  and  public  opinion.  The  man  is  induced  to 
postpone  immediate  gratification  through  his  fear  of 
others,  especially  of  the  chief,  of  the  dead  and  of 


143 


social  displeasure  —  "  legal  penalty,  supernatural 
punishment  and  social  reprobation".  Thus  there 
grows  up  the  sense  of  obligation.  This  refers  at  first 
only  to  the  above-mentioned  extrinsic  effects  of 
action.  But  finally  the  mind  learns  to  consider  the 
intrinsic  effect  of  the  action  itself — the  evil  inflicted 
by  the  evil  deed,  and  then  the  sense  of  duty,  or 
coercion,  evolved  through  the  aforesaid  external 
agencies,  becomes  transferred  to  this  new  mode  of 
controlling  action.  Desires  are  now  controlled 
through  considerations  of  what  their  own  effects 
would  be,  were  the  desires  acted  upon. 

It  follows  "that  the  sense  of  duty  or  moral  obli- 
gation is  transitory,  and  will  diminish  as  fast  as 
moralization  increases  "  (page  127).  Even  when 
compulsion  is  self-imposed,  there  is  still  compul- 
sion, coercion,  and  this  must  be  done  away  with. 
It  is  done  away  with  as  far  as  an  act  which  is  at 
first  done  only  for  the  sake  of  its  own  remoter 
consequences  comes  to  be  done  for  its  own  sake. 
And  this  will  ultimately  occur,  if  the  act  is  con- 
tinued, since  "persistence  in  performing  a  duty 
ends  in  making  it  a  pleasure  ". 

See  Guyau,  La  Morale  Anglaise  Contemporaine, 
besides  the  works  of  Bain  and  Spencer.  In  addition 
to  objections  which  will  forthwith  be  made,  we  may 
here  note  a  false  abstraction  of  Spencer's.  He  makes 
the  act  and  its  consequences  two  things,  while  the  act 
and  its  consequences  (provided  they  are  known  as 


144 


such)  are  the  same  thing,  no  matter  whether  conse- 
quences are  near  or  remote.  The  only  distinction  is 
that  consequences  once  not  known  as  such  at  all  are 
seen  in  time  to  be  really  consequences,  and  thus  to  be 
part  of  the  content  of  the  act.  The  transfer  from  the 
''external  consequences"  imposed  by  the  ruler,  priest 
and  public-opinion  to  the  intrinsic  consequences  of  the 
act  itself,  is  thus  a  transfer  from  an  immoral  to  a 
moral  basis.  This  is  very  different  from  a  change 
of  the  form  of  obligation  itself. 

XLV. 

Criticism  Putting  aside  the  consideration  of 
of  these  the  relation  of  desire  to  duty,  (the 
Theories,  question  whether  duty  is  essentially 
coercive)  until  after  we  have  taken  up  the  Kantian 
idea  of  obligation,  we  may  note  the  following 
objections  to  the  theories  just  stated.  Their  great 
defect  is  that  they  do  not  give  us  any  method 
of  differentiating  moral  coercion  (or  obligation) 
from  the  action  of  mere  superior  physical  force. 
Taking  it  (first)  upon  the  side  of  the  individual:  Is 
there  any  reason  ivhy  the  individual  submits  to  the 
external  authority  of  government  except  that  he  has 
to  do  so  ?  He  may  argue  that,  since  others  possess 
superior  force,  he  will  avoid  certain  pains  by  con- 
forming to  their  demands,  but  such  yielding, 
whether  temporary  or  permanent,  to  superior  force 
is  very  far  from  being  a  recognition  that  one  ought 
to  act  as  the  superior  force  dictates.  The  theories 
must  logically  commit  us  to  the  doctrine  that '  might 


145 


makes  right'  in  its  baldest  form.  Every  one  knows 
that,  when  the  individual  surrenders  the  natural 
gratifications  of  his  desires  to  the  command  of 
others,  if  his  sole  reason  is  the  superior  force  of  the 
commanding  party,  he  does  not  forego  in  the  sur- 
render his  right  to  such  gratification  the  moment 
he  has  the  chance  to  get  it.  Actual  slavery  would 
be  the  model  school  of  duties,  if  these  theories  were 
true. 

The  facts  adduced  by  Bain  and  Spencer — the 
growth  of  the  recognition  of  duties  in  the  child 
through  the  authority  of  the  parents,  and  in  the 
savage  through  the  use  of  authority  by  the  chief — 
are  real  enough,  but  what  they  prove  is  that  obliga- 
tion may  be  brought  home  to  one  by  force,  not  that 
force  creates  obligation.  The  child  and  the  man 
yield  to  force  in  such  a  way  that  their  sense  of  duty 
is  developed  only  in  case  they  recognize,  implicitly, 
the  force  or  the  authority  as  already  right.  Let  it 
be  recognized  that  rightful  force  (as  distinct  from 
mere  brute  strength)  resides  in  certain  social 
authorities,  and  these  social  authorities  may  do 
much,  beyond  the  shadow  of  doubt,  to  give  effect  to 
the  special  deeds  and  relations  which  are  to  be  con- 
sidered obligatory.  These  theories,  in  fine,  take 
the  fact  of  obligation  for  granted,  and,  at  most,  only 
show    the  historical  process  by    which   its    fuller 

recognition  is  brought  about.     Force  in  the  service 
10 


146 

of  right  is   one  thing  ;  force   as   constituting  and 
creating  right  is  another. 

And  this  is  to  say  (secondly),  considering  the 
matter  from  the  side  of  society,  that  the  theories  of 
Bain  and  Spencer  do  not  explain  why  or  how  social 
authority  should  exercise  coercive  force  over  the 
individual.  If  it  is  implied  that  they  do  so  in  the 
moral  interests  of  the  individual  or  of  the  com- 
munity, this  takes  it  for  granted  that  there  already  is 
in  existence  a  moral  ideal  obligatory  upon  the 
individual.  If  it  is  implied  that  they  exercise 
coercive  force  in  the  interests  of  their  own  private 
pleasure,  this  might  establish  a  despotism,  or  lead 
to  a  political  revolt,  but  it  is  difficult  to  see  how  it 
could  create  the  fact  of  duty.  When  we  consider 
any  concrete  case,  we  see  that  society,  in  its  com- 
pelling of  the  individual,  is  possessed  of  moral 
ideals;  and  that  it  conceives  itself  not  merely  as 
having  the  power  to  make  the  individual  conform  to 
them,  nor  as  having  the  right  merely;  but  as  under 
the  bounden  duty  of  bringing  home  to  the  individual 
his  duties.  The  social  authorities  do  not,  perforce, 
create  morality,  but  they  embody  and  make  effective 
the  existing  morality.  It  is  only  just  because  the 
actions  which  they  impose  are  thought  of  as  good^ 
good  for  others  as  for  themselves,  that  this  imposi- 
tion is  taken  out  of  the  realm  of  tyranny  into  that  of 
duty  (see  Sec.  XXXVIII). 


147 

XLVI. 

The  Kantian  As  we  have  seen,  Kant  takes  the 
Theory  of  conception  of  duty  as  the  primary 
Obligation,  ethical  notion,  superior  to  that  of 
the  good,  and  places  it  in  the  most  abrupt  opposi- 
tion to  desire.  The  relation  of  duty  to  desire  is 
not  control  of  some  feelings  by  others,  but  rather 
suppression  of  all  desire  (not  in  itself,  but  as  a 
motive  of  action)  in  favor  of  the  consciousness  of 
law  universal.  We  have,  on  one  side,  according  to 
Kant,  the  desire  and  inclination,  which  are  sensuous 
and  pathological.  These  constitute  man's  'lower 
nature'.  On  the  other  side  there  is  Beason,  which 
is  essentially  universal,  above  all  caprice  and  all 
prostitution  to  private  pleasure.  This  Reason,  or 
'higher  nature',  imposes  a  law  upon  the  sentient 
being  of  man,  a  law  which  takes  the  form  of  a 
command  (the  '  Categorical  Imperative ').  This 
relation  of  a  higher  rational  nature  issuing  com- 
mands to  a  lower  sensuous  nature  (both  within  man 
himself),  is  the  very  essence  of  duty.  If  man 
were  wholly  a  sentient  being,  he  would  have  only 
to  follow  his  natural  impulses,  like  the  animals. 
If  he  were  only  a  rational  being,  he  would  necessa- 
rily obey  his  reason,  and  there  would  still  be  no 
talk  of  obligation.  But  because  of  the  dualism, 
because  of  the  absolute  opposition  between  Reason 
and  Desire,  man  is  a  being  subject  to  obligation. 


148 

Reason  says  to  the  desires  "Thou  shalt"  or  "Thou 
shalt  not".  Yet  this  obligation  is  not  externally 
imposed;  the  man  as  rational  imposes  it  upon  him- 
self as  sensuous.  Thus  Kant  says  that,  in  the 
realm  of  morality,  man  is  both  sovereign  and  sub- 
ject. 

The  reflex  influence  of  Rousseau's  social  theories 
upon  Kant's  moral  doctrines  in  this  respect  is  worthy 
of  more  attention  than  it  usually  receives.  Kant's 
moral  theory  is  hardly  more  than  a  translation  of 
Rousseau's  politics  into  ethical  terms,  through  its 
union  with  Kant's  previously  established  dualism  of 
reason  and  sense. 

XLVII. 

Criticism  of  the       1.     No  one  can  deny  that  a 
Kantian  genuine   opposition    exists    be- 

Theory.  tween  the  'natural'  desires  and 

moral  activity.  The  being  that  ^satisfies  each  desire 
or  appetite  as  it  arises,  without  ^-^ference  of  it  to, 
or  control  of  it  by,  some  principlei''^has  not  had  the 
horizon  of  cgoiduct  lift  before  him.  But  Kant 
makes  the  satisfaction  of  desire  as  such  (not  of 
this  or  that  desire)  antagonistic  to  action  from 
duty.  Kant  was  forced  into  this  position  by  his 
fundamental  division  of  sense  from  reason,  but  it 
carries  with  it  its  own  condemnation  and  thus  that 
of  the  premises  from  which  it  is  derived.  It  comes 
to  saying  that  the  actual  desires  and  appetites 
are  not  what  they  ought  to  be.     This,  in  itself, 


149 

is  true  enough.  But  when  Kant  goes  on  to 
say,  as  he  virtually  does,  that  what  ought  to  be  can- 
not be,  that  the  desires  as  such  cannot  be  brought 
into  harmony  with  principle,  he  has  made  the 
moral  life  not  only  a  riddle,  but  a  riddle  with  no 
answer.  If  mankind  were  once  convinced  that  the 
moral  ideal  were  something  which  ought  to  be  but 
which  could  not  be,  we  may  easily  imagine  how 
much  longer  moral  endeavor  would  continue.  The 
first  or  immediate  stimulus  to  moral  effort  is  the 
conviction  that  the  desires  and  appetites  are  not 
what  they  should  be;  the  underlying  and  continu- 
ing stimulus  is  the  conviction  that  the  expression  of 
desires  in  harmony  with  law  is  the  sole  abiding  good 
of  man.  To  reconcile  the  two  is  the  very  meaning  of 
the  moral  struggle  (see  Sec.  LXIV).  Strictly,  ac- 
cording to  Kant,  morality  would  either  leave  the 
appetites  untouched  or  would  abolish  them — in 
either  case  destroying  morality. 

See  Caird,  Op.  cit.,  Vol.  II,  pp.  226-28. 

2.  Kant  again  seems  to  be  on  the  right  track 
in  declaring  that  obligation  is  not  anything  exter- 
nally imposed,  but  is  the  law  of  man's  being,  self- 
imposed.  This  principle  of  '  autonomy '  is  the 
only  escape  from  a  theory  of  obligation  which 
would  make  obligation  external,  and  regard  for  it 
slavish  fear,  or  servile  hope  of  reward.  To  regard 
even  a  Divine  Being  as  the  author  of  obligation  is 


150 


to  make  it  a  form  of  external  constraint,  appealing 
only  to  hope  or  fear,  unless  this  Divine  Being  is 
shown  to  be  organically  connected  with  self. 

But  this  abstract  universal  reason  which  some- 
how dwells,  without  mediation  or  reason,  in  each 
individual,  seems  to  be  somewhat  scholastic,  a  trifle 
mythological.  There  is  undoubtedly  in  man's  ex- 
perience a  function  which  corresponds  to  what 
Kant  is  aiming,  thus  mythologically,  to  describe. 
But  it  is  one  -thing  to  recognize  an  opposition  of  a 
desire,  in  its  isolation,  to  desire  as  organic  to  the 
function  of  the  whole  man;  it  is  another  to  split 
man  into  a  blank  dualism  of  an  abstract  reason, 
on  one  side,  having  no  antecedents  or  bearings,  and 
of  a  mess  of  appetites,  having  only  animal  rela- 
tionship, on  the  other.  The  truth  that  Kant  is 
aiming  to  preserve  seems  to  be  fairly  stated  as  two- 
fold: first,  that  duty  is  self-imposed,  and  thus 
the  dutiful  will  autononfous  or  free;  and,  sec- 
ond, the  presence  of  struggle  in  man  between 
a  '  lower '  and  a  '  higher '.  /  The  first  point 
seems  to  be  sufficiently  met  by  the  idea  already  ad- 
vanced that  self,  or  individuality,  is  essentially 
social,  being  constituted  not  by  isolated  capacity, 
but  by  capacity  acting  in  response  to  the  needs  of 
an  environment — an  environment  which,  when 
taken  in  its  fullness,  is  a  community  of  persons. 
Any  law  imposed  by  such  a  self  would  be  '  univer- 


151 


sal ',  but  this  universality  would  not  be  an  isolated 
possession  of  the  individual;  it  would  be  another 
name  for  the  concrete  social  relationships  which 
make  the  individual  what  he  is,  as  a  social  member 
or  organ.  Furthermore,  such  a  universal  law  would 
not  be  formal,  but  would  have  a  content — these 
same  relationships. 

The  second  point  seems  to  be  met  by  recogniz- 
ing that  in  the  realization  of  the  law  of  social 
function,  conflict  must  occur  between  the  desire  as 
an  immediate  and  direct  expression  of  the  individ- 
ual— the  desire  in  its  isolation— and  desire  as  an 
expression  of  the  whole  man;  desire,  that  is,  as 
wholly  conformable  to  the  needs  of  the  surround- 
ings. Such  a  conflict  is  real  enough,  as  everyone's 
experience  will  testif}^,  but  it  is  a  conflict  which 
may  be  solved — which  must  be  solved  so  far  as 
morality  is  attained.  And  since  it  is  a  conflict 
within  desire  itself,  its*  solution  or  morality,  does 
not  require  any  impossible  obliteration  of  desire, 
nor  any  acting  from  an  '  ought '  which  has  no  rela- 
tion to  what '  is  '.  This,  indeed,  is  the  failure  of 
the  Kantian  Ethics:  in  separating  what  should  be 
from  what  is,  it  deprives  the  latter,  the  existing 
social  world  as  well  as  the  desires  of  the  individual, 
of  all  moral  value;  while,  by  the  same  separation,  it 
condemns  that  which  should  be  to  a  barren  ab- 
straction.    An  '  ought '  which  does  not  root  in  and 


152 

flower  from  the  '  is',  which  is  not  the  fuller  realiza- 
tion of  the  actual  state  of  social  relationships,  is  a 
mere  pious  wish  that  things  should  be  better.  And 
morality,  that  is,  right  action,  is  not  so  feeble  as 
this  would  come  to. 

XLVIII. 

The  Source  The  basis  of  a  correct  theory 

and  Nature  of    of   obligation   lies,    as    already 

Obligation.  stated,  in  holding  fast  to  its 
concrete  relations  to  the  moral  end,  or  good.  This 
end  consists  in  an  activity  in  which  capacity  is  ex- 
ercised in  accordance  with  surroundings,  with  the 
social  needs  which  afPect  the  individual.  It  is  im- 
plied in  this  very  idea,  that  the  end  is  not  some- 
thing which  the  individual  may  set  up  at  his  own 
arbitrary  will.  The  social  needs  give  control,  law, 
authority.  The  individual  may  not  manifest  his 
capacity,  satisfy  his  desires,  apart  from  their  spe- 
cific relation  to  the  enviipnment  in  which  they 
exist.  The  general  fact  of  obligation  which  is 
constituted  through  this  control  of  capacity  by  the 
wider  function  is,  of  course,  differentiated  into 
specific  '  laws  '  or  duties  by  the  various  forms  which 
the  one  function  takes,  as  capacity  and  circum- 
stances vary. 

In  other  words,  obligation  or  duty  is  simply  the 
aspect  which  the  good  or  the  moral  end  assumes,  as 
the  individual  conceives  of  it.     From  the  very  fact 


^53 

that  the  end  is  the  good,  and  yet  is  not  realized  by 
the  individual,  it  presents  itself  to  him  as  that 
which  should  be  realized — as  the  ideal  of  action. 
It  requires  no  further  argument  to  show  that  obli- 
gation is  at  once  self-imposed,  and  social  in  its  con- 
tent. It  is  self-imposed  because  it  flows  from  the 
good,  from  the  idea  of  the  full  activity  of  the  indi- 
vidaal's  own  will.  It  is  no  law  imposed  from  with- 
out; but  is  his  own  law,  the  law  of  his  own  function, 
of  his  individuality.  Its  social  content  flows  from 
the  fact  that  this  individuality  is  not  mere  capacity, 
but  is  this  capacity  acting,  and  acting  so  as  to  com- 
prehend social  relationships. 

Suppose  that  man's  good  and  his  conviction  of 
duty  were  divorced  from  one  another — that  man's 
duty  were  other  than  to  fulfill  his  own  specific 
function.  Such  a  thing  would  make  duty  purely 
formal;  the  moral  law  would  have  no  intrinsic  rela- 
tion to  daily  conduct,  4io  the  expression  of  man's 
powers  and  wants.  There  have,  indeed,  been  mor- 
alists who  think  they  do  the  Lord  service,  who 
think  they  add  to  the  dignity  and  sacredness  of 
Duty  by  making  it  other  than  the  idea  of  the  ac- 
tivity of  man,  regulated  indeed,  but  regulated  only 
by  its  own  principle  of  activity.  But  such  moral- 
ists in  their  desire  to  consecrate  the  idea  of  duty 
remove  from  it  all  content,  and  leave  it  an  empty 
abstraction.     On  the  other  hand,  their  eagerness  to 


154 

give  absoluteness  and  imperativeness  to  duty  by- 
making  it  a  law  other  than  that  of  the  normal  ex- 
pression of  man,  casts  discredit  upon  the  one  moral 
reality — the  full,  free  play  of  human  life.  In  deny- 
ing that  duty  is  simply  the  intrinsic  law,  the  self- 
manifestation  of  this  life,  they  make  this  life 
immoral,  or  at  least  non-moral.  They  degrade  it 
to  a  bundle  of  appetites  and  powers  having  no 
moral  value  until  the  outside  moral  law  is  applied 
to  them.  In  reality,  the  dignity  and  imperativeness 
of  duty  are  simply  the  manifest  dignity  and  uncon- 
ditioned worth  of  human  life  as  exhibited  in  its 
free  activity.  The  whole  idea  of  the  separateness 
of  duty  from  the  concrete  flow  of  human  action  is 
a  virulent  example  of  the  fallacy  mentioned  in  an 
early  section — the  fallacy  that  moral  action  means 
something  more  than  action  itself  (see  Sec.  II). 

The  attempt  to  act  upon  a  theory  of  the  divorce 
of  satisfaction  and  duty,  to  carry  it  out  in  practice, 
means  the  maiming  of  desire  through  distrust  of 
its  moral  significance,  and  thus,  by  withdrawing 
the  impetus  of  action,  the  reduction  of  life  to  mere 
passivity.  So  far  as  this  does  not  happen,  it  means 
the  erection  of  the  struggle  itself,  the  erection  of 
the  opposition  of  law  to  desire,  into  the  very  prin- 
ciple of  the  moral  life.  The  essential  principle  of 
the  moral  life,  that  good  consists  in  the  freeing  of 
impulse,  of  appetite,  of  desire,  of  power,  by  enab- 


155 


ling  them  to  flow  in  the  channel  of  a  unified  and 
full  end  is  lost  sight  of,  and  the  free  service  of  the 
spirit  is  reduced  to  the  slavish  fear  of  a  bond- man 
under  a  hard  taskmaster. 

The  essential  point  in  the  analysis  of  moral  law, 
or  obligation,  having  been  found,  we  may  briefly 
discuss  some  subsidiary  points. 

1.  The  relation  of  duty  to  a  given  desire. 
As  any  desire  arises,  it  will  be,  except  so  far  as 
character  has  already  been  moralized,  a  demand 
for  its  own  satisfaction;  the  desire,  in  a  word,  will 
be  isolated.  In  so  far,  duty  will  be  in  a  negative 
attitude  towards  the  desire;  it  will  insist  first  upon 
its  limitation,  and  then  upon  its  transformation. 
So  far  as  it  is  merely  limitative,  it  demands  the 
denying  of  the  desire,  and  so  far  assumes  a  coercive 
form.  But  this  limitation  is  not  for  its  own  sake, 
but  for  that  of  the  transformation  of  desire  into  a 
freer  and  more  adequate  form — into  a  form,  that  is, 
where  it  will  carry  with  it,  when  it  passes  into 
action,  more  of  activity,  than  the  original  desire 
would  have  done. 

Does  duty  itself  disappear  when  its  constraint 
disappears?  On  the  contrary,  so  far  as  an  act  is 
done  unwillingly,  under  constraint,  so  far  the  act  is 
impure,  and  undutiful.  The  very  fact  that  there  is 
need  of  constraint  shows  that  the  self  is  divided; 
that  there  is  a  two -fold  interest  and  purpose — one 


156 


in  the  law  of  the  activity  according  to  function,  the 
other  in  the  special  end  of  the  particular  desire. 
Let  the  act  be  done  wholly  as  duty,  and  it  is  done 
wholly  for  its  own  sake;  love,  passion  take  the  place 
of  constraint.     This  suggests: 

2.     Duty  for  duty's  sake. 

It  is  clear  that  such  an  expression  states  a  real 
moral  fact;  unless  a  duty  is  done  as  duty  it  is  not 
done  morally.  An  act  may  be  outwardly  just  what 
what  morality  demands,  and  yet  if  done  for  the 
sake  of  some  private  advantage  it  is  not  counted 
moral.  As  Kant  expresses  it,  an  act  must  be  done 
not  only  in  accordance  with  duty,  but  from  duty. 
This  truth,  however,  is  misinterpreted  when  it  is 
taken  to  mean  that  the  act  is  to  be  done  for  the 
sake  of  duty,  and  duty  is  conceived  as  a  third 
thing  outside  the  act  itself.  Such  a  theory  contra- 
dicts the  true  sense  of  the  phrase  '  duty  for  duty's 
sake ',  for  it  makes  the  act  done  not  for  its  own  sake, 
but  as  a  mere  means  to  an  abstract  law  beyond  it- 
self. '  Do  the  right  because  it  is  the  right '  means 
do  the  right  thing  because  it  is  the  right  thing;  that 
is,  do  the  act  disinterestedly  from  interest  in  the  act 
itself.  A  duty  is  always  some  act  or  line  of  action, 
not  a  third  thing  outside  the  act  to  which  it  is  to 
conform.  In  short,  duty  means  the  act  which  is  to 
he  done,  and  '  duty  for  duty's  sake '  means  do  the 
required  act  as  it  really  is ;  do  not  degrade  it  into 


157 


a  means  for  some  ulterior  end.  This  is  as  true  in 
practice  as  in  theory.  A  man  who  does  his  duty 
not  for  the  sake  of  the  acts  themselves,  but  for  the 
sake  of  some  abstract  'ideal'  which  he  christens 
duty  in  general,  will  have  a  morality  at  once  hard 
and  barren,  and  weak  and  sentimental. 

3.  The  agency  of  moral  authority  in  prescrib- 
ing moral  law  and  stimulating  to  moral  conduct. 

The  facts,  relied  upon  by  Bain  and  Spencer,  as 
to  the  part  played  by  social  influences  in  imposing 
duties,  are  undeniable.  The  facts,  however,  are 
unaccountable  upon  the  theory  of  these  writers,  as 
that  theory  would,  as  we  have  seen,  explain  only 
the  influence  of  society  in  producing  acts  done  from 
fear  or  for  hope  of  reward.  But  if  the  individual 
and  others  are  equally  members  of  one  society,  if 
the  performance  by  each  man  of  his  own  function 
constitutes  a  good  common  to  all,  it  is  inevitable 
that  social  authorities  should  be  an  influence  in 
constituting  and  teaching  duties.  The  community, 
in  imposing  its  own  needs  and  demands  upon  the 
individual,  is  simply  arousing  him  to  a  knowledge 
of  his  relationships  in  life,  to  a  knowledge  of  the 
moral  environment  in  which  he  lives,  and  of  the 
acts  which  he  must  perform  if  he  is  to  realize  his 
individuality.  The  community  in  awakening  moral 
consciousness  in  the  morally  immature  may  appeal 
to  motives  of  hope  and  fear.     But  even  this  fact 


158 

does  not  mean  that  to  the  child,  duty  is  necessarily- 
constituted  by  fear  of  punishment  or  hope  of  re- 
ward. It  means  simply  that  his  capacity  and  his 
surroundings  are  both  so  undeveloped  that  the 
exercise  of  his  function  takes  mainly  the  form  of 
pleasing  others.  He  may  still  do  his  duty  as  his 
duty,  but  his  duty  now  consists  in  pleasing  others. 

On  Obligation  see  Green,  Op.  cit.,  pp.  352-356; 
Alexander,  Op.  cit.,  pp.  142-147.  For  different  views, 
Martineau,  Op.  cit.,  Vol.  II,  pp.  92-119;  Calderwood, 
Op.  cit.,  pp.  131-138,  and  see  also,  Grote,  Treatise  on 
Moral  Ideals,  ch.  VII. 


Chaptek  III.— the  idea  OF  FREEDOM. 


XLIX. 
The  Forms       We   may   now  deal,  more  briefly, 
of  with  the  problem  of  moral  capacity. 

Freedom.  It  is,  in  principle,  the  ability  to  con- 
ceive of  an  end  and  to  be  governed  in  action  by  this 
conceived  end.  We  may  consider  this  capacity  in 
three  aspects,  as  negative,  as  potential  and  as 
positive. 

1.  Negative  Aspect  of  Freedom.  The  power  to 
be  governed  in  action  by  the  thought  of  some  end  to 
be  reached  is  freedom  from  the  appetites  and  de- 
sires. An  animal  which  does  not  have  the  power 
of  proposing  ends  to  itself  is  impelled  to  action  by 
its  wants  and  appetites  just  as  they  come  into  con- 


159 

sciousness.  It  is  irritated  into  acting.  Each 
impulse  demands  its  own  satisfaction,  and  the 
animal  is  helpless  to  rise  above  the  particular  want. 
But  a  person,  one  who  can  direct  his  action  by- 
conscious  ends,  is  emancipated  from  subjection  to 
the  particular  appetites.  He  can  consider  their 
relation  to  the  end  which  he  has  set  before  himself, 
and  can  reject,  modify  or  use  them  as  best  agrees 
with  the  pui'posed  end.  This  capacity  to  control 
and  subjugate  impulses  by  reflection  upon  their 
relationship  to  a  rational  end  is  the  power  of  self- 
government,  and  the  more  distinct  and  the  more 
comprehensive  in  scope  the  end  is,  the  more  real 
the  self-government. 

2.  Potential  Freedom.  The  power  to  con- 
ceive of  ends  involves  the  possibility  of  thinking  of 
many  and  various  ends,  and  even  of  ends  which 
are  contrary  to  one  another.  If  an  agent  could 
conceive  of  but  one  end  in  some  case,  it  would  al- 
ways seem  to  him  afterwards  that  he  had  been 
necessitated  to  act  in  the  direction  of  that  end; 
but  the  power  to  put  various  ends  before  self  con- 
stitutes "  freedom  of  choice ",  or  potential  free- 
dom. After  action,  the  agent  calls  to  mind  that 
there  was  another  end  open  to  him,  and  that  if  he 
did  not  choose  the  other  end,  it  was  because  of 
something  in  his  character  which  made  him  prefer 
the  one  he  actually  chose. 


160 

L. 

Moral  Here  we  have  the  basis  of  moral  re- 

Responsl-  sponsibility  or  accountability.     There 

billty.  is  no  responsibility  for  any  result 
which  is  not  intended  or  foreseen.  Such  a  con- 
sequence is  only  physical,  not  moral.  (Sec.  VII). 
But  when  any  result  has  been  foreseen,  and  adopted 
as  foreseen,  such  result  is  the  outcome  not  of  any 
external  circumstances,  nor  of  mere  desires  and 
impulses,  but  of  the  agent's  conception  of  his  own 
end.  Now,  because  the  result  thus  flows  from  the 
agent's  own  conception  of  an  end,  he  feels  himself 
responsible  for  it. 

It  must  be  remembered  that  the  end  adopted  is 
that  which  is  conceived  as  satisfying  self — that, 
indeed,  when  we  say  end  of  action,  we  mean  only 
some  proposed  form  of  self-satisfaction.  The 
adopted  end  always  indicates,  therefore,  that  sort 
of  condition  which  the  agent  considers  to  be  good, 
or  self- satisfactory.  It  is  because  a  result  flows 
from  the  agent's  ideal  of  himself,  the  thought 
of  himself  which  he  considers  desirable  or  worth 
realizing,  that  the  agent  feels  himself  responsible. 
The  result  is  simply  an  expression  of  himself  ;  a 
manifestation  of  what  he  would  have  himself  be. 
Responsibility  is  thus  one  aspect  of  the  identity  of 
character  and  conduct.     (Sec.  VII).     We  are  re- 


161 

sponsible  for  our  conduct  because  that  conduct  is 
ourselves  objectified  in  actions. 

The  idea  of  responsibility  is  intensified  when- 
ever there  have  been  two  contrary  lines  of  conduct 
conceived,  of  which  one  has  been  chosen.  If  the 
end  adopted  turns  out  not  to  be  satisfactory,  but, 
rather,  unworthy  and  degrading,  the  agent  feels 
that  he  might  have  chosen  the  other  end,  and  that 
if  he  did  not,  it  was  because  his  character  was  such, 
his  ideal  of  himself  was  such,  that  this  other  end 
did  not  appeal  to  him.  The  actual  result  is  felt  to 
be  the  outcome  of  an  unworthy  character  mani- 
fested in  the  adoption  of  a  low  form  of  satisfac- 
tion; and  the  evident  contrast  of  this  low  form 
with  a  higher  form,  present  to  consciousness  but 
rejected,  makes  the  sense  of  responsibility  more 
acute.  As  such,  it  is  the  judgment  of  disapproba- 
tion passed  upon  conduct;  the  feeling  of  remorse 
and  of  the  desert  of  punishment.  Freedom  as  the 
power  of  conceiving  ends  and  of  realizing  the  ideal 
end  in  action,  is  thus  the  basis  both  of  responsi- 
bility and  of  approbation  (or  disapprobation). 

The  Freedom  of  Indifference.  It  is  this  potential 
freedom,  arising  from  the  power  of  proposing  various 
ends  of  action,  which,  misinterpreted,  gives  rise  to  the 
theory  of  a  liberty  of  indifferent  choice— the  theory 
that  the  agrent  can  choose  this  or  that  without  any 
ground  or  motive.  The  real  experience  is  the  knowl- 
edge, after  the  choice  of  one  end,  that  since  another 
11 


162 

end  was  also  present  to  consciousness  that  other  end 
might  have  been  chosen,  if  only  the  character  had 
been  such  as  to  find  its  satisfaction  in  that  other  end. 
The  theory  of  indifference  misconstrues  ihis  fact  to 
mean  that  the  agent  might  just  as  well  have  chosen 
that  other  end,  without  any  if  or  qualification  what- 
ever. The  theory  of  indifference,  moreover,  defeats 
its  own  end.  The  point  which  it  is  anxious  to  save  is 
responsibility.  It  sees  that  if  only  one  course  of 
action  were  ever  open  to  an  agent,  without  the  possi- 
bility of  any  conception  of  another  course,  an  agent, 
so  acting,  could  not  be  held  responsible  for  not  having 
adopted  that  other  course.  And  so  it  argues  that 
there  must  always  be  the  possibility  of  indifferent  or 
alternate  choice;  the  possibility  of  adopting  this  or 
that  line  of  action  without  any  motive.  But  if  such 
were  the  case  responsibility  would  be  destroyed.  If 
the  end  chosen  is  not  an  expression  of  character,  if  it 
does  not  manifest  the  agent's  ideal  of  himself,  if  its 
choice  is  a  matter  of  indifference,  it  does  not  signify 
morally,  but  is  mere  accident  or  caprice.  It  is  because 
choice  is  not  a  matter  of  indifference,  but  an  outcome 
of  character  that  the  agent  feels  responsibility,  and 
approves  or  disapproves.  He  virtually  says  :  "  1  am 
responsible  for  this  outcome,  not  because  I  could  have 
chosen  another  end  just  as  well  without  any  reason, 
but  because  I  thought  of  another  end  and  rejected  it; 
because  my  character  was  such  that  that  end  did  not 
seem  good,  and  was  such  that  this  end  did  seem  good. 
My  character  is  myself,  and  in  this  unworthy  end  I 
^tand  self-condemned." 

LI. 
M  o  r  a  I  Freedom  considered  as  poten- 

'Reformation.      tial,  depending  upon  the  power 
of  the  agent  to  frame  diverse  ends,  is  the  basis  not 


163 


only  of  responsibility,  but  also  of  the  possibility  of 
reformation,  or  of  change  in  character  and  con- 
duct. All  moral  action  is  the  expression  of  self, 
but  the  self  is  not  something  fixed  or  rigid. 
It  includes  as  a  necessary  part  of  itself  the  pos- 
sibility of  framing  conceptions  of  what  it  would 
be,  and  there  is,  therefore,  at  any  time  the  pos- 
sibility of  acting  upon  some  ideal  hitherto  un- 
realized. If  conduct  were  the  expression  of  char- 
acter, in  a  sense  which  identified  character  wholly 
with  past  attainments,  then  reformation  would  be 
impossible.  What  a  man  once  was  he  must  always 
continue  to  be.  But  past  attainments  do  not  ex- 
haust all  the  possibilities  of  character.  Since  con- 
duct necessarily  implies  a  continuous  adjustment  of 
developing  capacity  to  new  conditions,  there  is  the 
ability  to  frame  a  changed  ideal  of  self-satisfaction 
— that  is,  ability  to  lead  a  new  life.  That  the  new 
ideal  is  adopted  from  experience  of  the  unworthy 
nature  of  former  deeds  is  what  we  should  expect. 
The  chosen  end  having  proved  itself  unsatisfactory, 
the  alternative  end,  previously  rejected,  recurs  to 
consciousness  with  added  claims.  To  sum  up: 
The  doctrine  that  choice  depends  upon  character  is 
correct,  but  the  doctrine  is  misused  when  taken  to 
mean  that  a  man's  outward  conduct  will  always  be 
in  the  same  direction  that  it  has  been.  Character 
involves  all   the   ideas  of  difPerent  and  of  better 


164 

things  which  have  been  present  to  the  agent,  al- 
though he  has  never  attempted  to  carry  them  out. 
And  there  is  always  the  possibility  that,  if  the 
proper  influences  are  brought  to  bear,  some  one  of 
these  latent  ideals  may  be  made  vital,  and  wholly 
change  the  bent  of  character  and  of  conduct. 
LII. 
Positive  The  capacity  of  freedom  lies  in 

Freedom,  the  power  to  form  an  ideal  or  con- 
ception of  an  end.  Actual  freedom  lies  in  the 
realization  of  that  end  which  actually  satisfies.  An 
end  may  be  freely  adopted,  and  yet  its  actual  work- 
ing-out may  result  not  in  freedom,  but  in  slavery. 
It  may  result  in  rendering  the  agent  more  subject 
to  his  passions,  less  able  to  direct  his  own  conduct, 
and  more  cramped  and  feeble  in  powers.  Only 
that  end  which  executed  really  effects  greater  energy 
and  comprehensiveness  of  character  makes  for 
actual  freedom.  In  a  word,  only  the  good  man, 
the  man  who  is  truly  realizing  his  individuality,  is 
free,  in  the  positive  sense  of  that  word. 

Every  action  which  is  not  in  the  line  of  per- 
formance of  functions  must  necessarily  result  in 
self  -  enslavement.  The  end  of  desire  is  activity; 
and  it  is  only  in  fullness  and  unity  of  activity  that 
freedom  is  found.  When  desires  are  not  unified — 
when,  that  is,  the  idea  of  the  exercise  of  function 
does  not  control  conduct — one   desire  must  conflict 


165 


with  another.  Action  is  directed  now  this  way,  now 
that,  and  there  is  friction,  loss  of  power.  On  ac- 
count of  this  same  lack  of  control  of  desires  by  the 
comprehensive  law  of  social  activity,  one  member 
of  society  is  brought  into  conflict  with  another,  with 
waste  of  energy,  and  with  i  mpeded  and  divided  ac- 
tivity and  satisfaction  of  desire.  Exercise  of  func- 
tion, on  the  other  hand,  unifies  the  desires,  giving 
each  its  relative,  although  subordinate,  place.  It  fits 
each  into  the  others,  and,  through  the  harmonious 
adjustment  of  one  to  another,  effects  that  complete 
and  unhindered  action  which  is  freedom.  The 
performance  of  specific  function  falls  also  into 
free  relations  with  the  activities  of  other  persons, 
cooperating  with  them,  giving  and  receiving  what 
is  needed,  and  thus  constituting  full  liberty. 
Other  aspects  of  freedom,  as  the  negative  and  the 
potential,  are  simply  means  instrumental  to  the  re- 
alization of  individuality,  and  when  not  employed 
toward  this,  their  true  end,  they  become  methods 
of  enslaving  the  agent. 

On  the  subject  of  moral  freedom,  as,  upon  the 
whole,  in  agreement  with  the  view  presented  here:  See 

Green:  Prolegomena  to  Ethics,  pp.  90-117;  142-158. 
Bradley:  Ethical  Studies,  ch.  I;  Caird:  Phil,  of  Kant, 
Vol.  II,  Bk.  II,  ch.  3;  Alexander:  Moral  Order  and 
Progress,  pp.  336-341. 

And,  for  a  view  agreeing  in  part,  Stephen:  Science 
of  Ethics,  pp.  278-293. 

For  presentations  of  the  freedom  of  indifference, 


166 


see,  Lotze:  Practical  Philosophy,  ch.  3.  Martineau: 
Op.  cit.,  Vol.  II,  pp.  34-40.  Calderwood:  Handbook 
of  Moral  Philosophy. 


PART  II. 


THE  ETHICAL  WORLD. 


LIH. 
The  Reality  The  habit  of  conceiving  moral 
of  Moral  action  as  a  certain  kind  of  action, 
Relations,  instead  of  all  action  so  far  as  it  really 
is  action,  leads  us  to  conceive  of  morality  as  a 
highly  desirable  something  which  somehow  ought 
to  be  brought  into  our  lives,  but  which  upon  the 
whole  is  not.  It  gives  rise  to  the  habit  of  con- 
ceiving morality  as  a  vague  ideal  which  it  is  praise- 
worthy for  the  individual  to  strive  for,  but  which 
depends  wholly  for  its  existence  upon  the  indi- 
vidual's wish  in  the  matter.  Morality,  that  is,  is 
considered  as  a  relation  existing  between  something 
which  merely  ought  to  be,  on  one  hand,  and  the 
individual's  choice,  or  his  conscience  on  the  other. 
This  point  of  view  has  found  typical  expression  in 
Bishop  Butler's  saying:  "  If  conscience  had  might 
as  it  has  right,  it  would  rule  the  world." 

But  right  is  not  such  a  helpless  creature.  It 
exists  not  in  word  but  in  power.  The  moral  world 
is,  here  and  now;  it  is  a  reality  apart  from  the 


168 

wishes,  or  failures  to  wish,  of  any  given  individual. 
It  bears  the  same  relation  to  the  individual's  activity 
that  the  'physical  world'  does  to  his  knowledge. 
Not  till  the  individual  has  to  spin  the  physical 
world  out  of  his  consciousness  in  order  to  know  it, 
will  it  be  necessary  for  him  to  create  morality  by 
his  choice,  before  it  can  exist.  As  knowledge  is  mas- 
tery in  one's  self  of  the  real  world,  the  reproduction 
of  it  in  self-consciousness,  so  moral  action  is  the 
appropriation  and  vital  self-expression  of  the  values 
contained  in  the  existing  practical  world. 

The  existence  of  this  moral  world  is  not  any- 
thing vaguely  mysterious.  Imagine  a  well  organ- 
ized factory,  in  which  there  is  some  comprehensive 
industry  carried  on — say  the  production  of  cotton 
cloth.  This  is  the  end;  it  is  a  common  end — that 
for  which  each  individual  labors.  Not  all  indi- 
viduals, however,  are  doing  the  same  thing.  The 
more  perfect  the  activity,  the  better  organized  the 
work,  the  more  differentiated  their  respective  labors. 
This  is  the  side  of  individual  activity  or  freedom. 
To  make  the  analogy  with  moral  activity  complete 
we  have  to  suppose  that  each  individual  is  doing  the 
work  because  of  itself,  and  not  merely  as  di'udgery 
for  the  sake  of  some  further  end,  as  pay.  Now 
these  various  individuals  are  bounds  together  by 
their  various  acts;  some  more  nearly  because  doing 
closely  allied  things,  all  somewhat,  because  contrib- 


169 


uting  to  a  common  activity.     This  is  the  side  of 
laws  and  duties. 

This  group  of  the  differentiated  and  yet  related 
activities  is  the  analogue  of  the  moral  world. 
There  are  certain  wants  which  have  constantly  to  be 
fulfilled;  certain  ends  which  demand  cooper^ating 
activities,  and  which  establish  fixed  relations  be- 
tween men.  There  is  a  world  of  ends,  a  realm  of 
definite  activities  in  existence,  as  concrete  as  the 
ends  and  activities  in  our  imagined  factory.  The 
child  finds,  then,  ends  and  actions  in  existence  when 
he  is  born.  More  than  this:  he  is  not  born  as  a 
mere  spectator  of  the  world;  he  is  born  into  it. 
He  finds  himself  encompassed  by  such  relations, 
and  he  finds  his  own  being  and  activity  intermeshed 
with  them.  If  he  takes  away  from  himself,  as  an 
agent,  what  he  has,  as  sharing  in  these  ends  and 
actions,  nothing  remains. 

LIV. 
Moral  This  world  of  purposes  and  ac- 

Institutions.  tivities  is  differentiated  into  various 
institutions.  The  child  is  born  as  a  member  of  a 
family ;  as  he  grows  up  he  finds  that  others  have 
possessions  which  he  must  respect,  that  is,  he  runs 
upon  the  institution  of  property.  As  he  grows  still 
older,  he  finds  persons  outside  of  the  family  of 
whose  actions  he  must  take  account  as  respects  his 
own:  society^  in  the  limited  sense  as  meaning  rela- 


170 


tions  of  special  intimacy  or  acquaintanceship.  Then 
he  finds  the  political  institutions;  the  city,  state 
and  nation.  He^finds  an  educational  institution,  the 
school,  the  college ;  religious  institutions,  the  church, 
etc.,  etc.  Everywhere  he  finds  men  having  com- 
mon wants  and  thus  proposing  common  ends  and 
using  cooperative  modes  of  action.  To  these  organ- 
ized modes  of  action,  with  their  reference  to  com- 
mon interests  and  purposes,  he  must  adjust  his 
activities;  he  must  take  his  part  therein,  if  he  acts 
at  all,  though  it  be  only  negatively  or  hostilely,  as 
in  evil  conduct.  These  institutions  are  morality 
real  and  objective;  the  individual  becomes  moral  as 
he  shares  in  this  moral  world,  and  takes  his  due 
place  in  it. 

Institutions,  then,  are  organized  modes  of  action, 
on  the  basis  of  the  wants  and  interests  which  unite 
men.  They  differ  as  the  family  from  the  town, 
the  church  fi'om  the  state,  according  to  the  scope 
and  character  of  the  wants  from  which  they 
spring.  They  are  not  bare  facts  like  objects  of 
knowledge;  they  are  practical,  existing  for  the  sake 
of,  and  by  means  of  the  will — as  execution  of  ideas 
which  have  interest.  Because  they  are  expressions 
of  common  purposes  and  ideas,  they  are  not  merely 
private  will  and  intelligence,  but,  in  the  literal  sense, 
public  will  and  reason. 

The  moral  endeavor  of  man  thus  takes  the  form 


/ 


171 


not  of  isolated  fancies  about  right  and  wrong,  not 
of  attempts  to  frame  a  morality  for  himself,  not  of 
efforts  to  bring  into  being  some  praiseworthy  ideal 
never  realized;  but  the  form  of  sustaining  and 
furthering  the  moral  world  of  which  he  is  a  mem- 
ber. Since  the  world  is  one  of  action,  and  not  of 
contemplation  like  the  world  of  knowledge,  it  can 
be  sustained  and  furthered  only  as  he  makes  its 
ends  his  own,  and  identifies  himself  and  his  satis- 
faction with  the  activities  in  which  other  wills  find 
their  fulfillment. 

This  is  simply  a  more  concrete  rendering  of  what 
has  already  been  said  about  the  moral  environment 
(see  Sec.  33). 

LV. 

The  Aspects  An  institution  is,  as  we  have 
of  a  Moral  seen  the  expression  of  unity  of  de- 
Institution,  sires  and  ideas;  it  is  general  intel- 
ligence in  action,  or  common  will.  As  such  com- 
mon will,  it  is,  as  respects  the  merely  private  or 
exclusive  wants  and  aims  of  its  members,  abso- 
lutely sovereign.  It  must  aim  to  control  them. 
It  must  set  before  them  the  common  end  or  ideal 
and  insist  upon  this  as  the  only  real  end  of  indi- 
vidual conduct.  The  ends  so  imposed  by  the  pub- 
lic reason  are  laws.  But  these  laws  are  for  the 
sake  of  realizing  the  common  end,  of  securing  that 
organized  unity  of  action  in  which  alone  the  indi- 


172 


yidual  can  find  freedom  and  fullness  of  action,  or 
his  own  satisfaction.  Thus  the  activity  of  the 
common  will  gives  freedom,  or  riglds,  to  the  vari- 
ous members  of  the  institution. 

Every  institution,  then,  has  its  sovereignty,  or 
authority,  and  its  laws  and  rights.  It  is  only  a 
false  abstraction  which  makes  us  conceive  of  sov- 
ereignty, or  authority,  and  of  law  and  of  rights 
as  inhering  only  in  some  supreme  organization,  as 
the  national  state.  The  family,  the  school,  the 
neighborhood  group,  has  its  authority  as  respects 
its  members,  imposes  its  ideals  of  action,  or  laws, 
and  confers  its  respective  satisfactions  in  way  of 
enlarged  freedom,  or  rights.  It  is  true  that  no 
one  of  these  institutions  is  isolated;  that  each 
stands  in  relation  with  other  like  and  unlike  insti- 
tutions. Each  minor  institution  is  a  member  of 
some  more  comprehensive  whole,  to  which  it  bears 
the  same  relation  that  the  individual  bears  to  it. 
That  is  to  say,  its  sovereignty  gives  way  to  the 
authority  of  the  more  comprehensive  organization; 
its  laws,  must  be  in  harmony  with  the  laws  which 
flow  from  the  larger  activity;  its  rights  must  be- 
come aspects  of  a  fuller  satisfaction.  Only  human- 
ity or  the  organized  activity  of  all  the  wants, 
powers  and  interests  common  to  men,  can  have  ab- 
solute sovereignty,  law  and  rights. 

But  the  narrower  group  has  its  relations,  none 


/ 


173 


the  less,  although,  in  ultimate  analysis,  they  flow 
from  and  manifest  the  wider  good,  which,  as 
wider,  must  be  controlling.  Without  such  minor 
local  authorities,  rights  and  laws,  humanity  would 
be  a  meaningless  abstraction,  and  its  activity 
wholly  empty.  There  is  an  authority  in  the  family, 
and  the  moral  growth  of  the  child  consists  in  iden- 
tifying the  law  of  his  own  conduct  with  the  ends 
aimed  at  by  the  institution,  and  in  growing  into 
maturity  and  freedom  of  manhood  through  the 
rights  which  are  bestowed  upon  him  as  such  a 
member.  Within  its  own  range  this  institution  is 
ultimate.  But  its  range  is  not  ultimate;  the  fam- 
ily, valuable  and  sacred  as  it  is,  does  not  exist  for 
itself.  It  is  not  a  larger  selfishness.  It  exists  as 
one  mode  of  realizing  that  comprehensive  common 
good  to  which  all  institutions  must  contribute,  if 
they  are  not  to  decay.  It  is  the  same  with  prop- 
erty, the  school,  the  local  church,  and  with  the 
national  state. 

We  can  now  translate  into  more  concrete  terms 
what  was  said,  in  Part  I,  regarding  the.  good, 
obligation  and  freedom.  That  performance  of 
function  which  is  '  the  good ',  is  now  seen  to  con- 
sist in  vital  union  with,  and  reproduction  of,  the 
practical  institutions  of  which  one  is  a  member. 
The  maintenance  of  such  institutions  by  the  free 
participation    therein    of    individual   wills,    is,   of 


174 

itself,  the  common  good.  Freedom  also  gets  con- 
creteness;  it  is  the  assured  rights,  or  powers  of 
action  which  one  gets  as  such  a  member: — powers 
which  are  not  mere  claims,  nor  simply  claims 
recognized  as  valid  by  others,  but  claims  re-inforced 
by  the  will  of  the  whole  community.  Freedom  be- 
comes real  in  the  ethical  world;  it  becomes  force 
and  efficiency  of  action,  because  it  does  not  mean 
some  private  possession  of  the  individual,  but  means 
the  whole  cooperating  and  organized  action  of  an 
institution  in  securing  to  an  individual  some  power 
of  self  expression. 

LVI. 

Moral   Law  Without  the  idea  of  the  eth- 

and    the  ical    world,    as     the     unified 

Ethical  World,  activity  of  diverse  functions 
exercised  by  different  individuals,  the  idea  of  the 
good,  and  of  freedom,  would  be  undefined.  But 
probably  no  one  has  ever  attempted  to  conceive  of 
the  good  aod  of  freedom  in  total  abstraction  from 
the  normal  activity  of  man.  Such  has  not  been 
the  lot  of  duty,  or  of  the  element  of  law.  Often  by 
implication,  sometimes  in  so  many  words,  it  is 
stated  that  while  a  physical  law  may  be  accounted 
for,  since  it  is  simply  an  abstract  from  observed 
facts,  a  moral  law  stands  wholly  above  and  apart 
from  actual  facts ;  it  expresses  solely  what  '  ought 
to  be'  and  not  what  is;  that,  indeed,  whether  any- 


175 


thing  in  accordance  with  it  ever  has  existed  or  not, 
is  a  matter  of  no  essential  moral  importance  the- 
oretically, however  it  may  be  practically.  Now  it 
is  evident  that  a  law  of  something  which  has  not 
existed,  does  not  and  perhaps  never  will  exist,  is  es- 
sentially inexplicable  and  mysterious.  It  is  as 
against  such  a  notion  of  moral  law  that  the  idea  of 
a  real  ethical  world  has  perhaps  its  greatest  service. 

A  moral  law,  e.  g.,  the  law  of  justice,  is  no  more 
merely  a  law  of  what  ought  to  be  than  is  the  law  of 
gravitation.  As  the  latter  states  a  certain  relation 
of  moving  masses  to  one  another,  so  the  law  of 
justice  states  a  certain  relation  of  active  wills  to 
one  another.  For  a  given  individual,  at  a  given 
time  and  circumstances,  the  law  of  justice  may  ap- 
pear as  the  law  of  something  which  ought  to  be, 
but  is  not: — is  not  for  him  in  this  respect,  that  is  to 
say.  But  the  very  fact  that  it  ought  to  be  for  him 
implies  that  it  already  is  for  others.  It  is  a  law  of 
the  society  of  which  he  is  a  member.  And  it  is  be- 
cause he  is  a  member  of  a  society  having  this  law, 
that  is  a  law  of  what  should  be  for  him. 

Would  then  justice  cease  to  be  a  law  for  him  if 
it  were  not  observed  at  all  in  the  society  of  which 
he  is  a  member?  Such  a  question  is  as  contradic- 
tory as  asking  what  would  happen  to  a  planet  if 
the  solar  system  went  out  of  existence.  It  is  the 
law  of  justice  (with  other  such  laws)  that  makes 


176 

society;  that  is,  it  is  those  active  relations  which  find 
expression  in  these  laws  that  unify  individuals  so 
that  they  have  a  common  end,  and  thus  mutual 
duties.  To  imagine  the  abolition  of  these  laws  is 
to  imagine  the  abolition  of  society;  and  to  ask  for 
the  law  of  individual  conduct  apart  from  all  relation- 
ship, actual  or  ideal,  to  society,  is  to  ask  in  what 
morality  consists  when  moral  conditions  are  de- 
stroyed. A  society  in  which  the  social  bond  we 
call  justice  does  not  obtain  to  some  degree  in  the  re- 
lations of  man  to  man,  is  not  society;  and,  on  the 
other  hand,  wherever  some  law  of  justice  actually 
obtains,  there  the  law  is  for  every  individual  who 
is  a  member  of  the  society. 

This  does  not  mean  that  the  '  is ',  the  actual 
status  of  the  moral  world,  is  identical  with  the 
'  ought ',  or  the  ideal  relations  of  man  to  man. 
But  it  does  mean  that  there  is  no  obligation,  either 
in  general  or  as  any  specific  duty,  which  does  not 
groiv  out  of  the  '  is  ',  the  actual  relations  now  ob- 
taining. *  The  ethical  world  at  any  given  time  is 
undoubtedly  imperfect,  and,  therefore,  it  demands 
a  certain  act  to  meet  the  situation.  The  very  im- 
perfection, the  very  badness  in  the  present  condi- 
tion of  things,  is  a  part  of  the  environment  with 
reference  to  which  we  must  act ;  it  is,  thus,  an  ele- 


*See  Sees.  59,  60  and  63  for  discussion  of  other  aspects  of 
this  question. 


177 


ment  in  the  laiv  of  future  action  that  it  shall  not 
exactly  repeat  the  existing  condition.  In  other 
words,  the  'is'  gives  the  law  of  the  '  ought',  but  it 
is  a  part  of  this  law  that  the  '  ought '  shall  not  be 
as  the  '  is  '.  It  is  because  the  relation  of  justice 
does  hold  in  members  of  a  stratum  of  society,  hav- 
ing a  certain  position,  power  or  wealth,  but  does 
not  hold  between  this  section  and  another  class, 
that  the  law  of  what  should  be  is  equal  justice  for 
all.  In  holding  that  actual  social  relations  afford 
the  law  of  what  should  be,  we  must  not  forget  that 
these  actual  relations  have  a  negative  as  well  as  a 
positive  side,  and  that  the  new  law  must  be  framed 
in  view  of  the  negatives,  the"  deficiencies,  the 
wrongs,  the  contradictions,  as  well  as  of  the  posi- 
tive attainments.  A  moral  law,  to  sum  up,  is  the 
principle  of  action,  which,  acted  upon,  will  meet 
the  needs  of  the  existing  situation  as  respects  the 
wants,  powers,  and  circumstances  of  the  individuals 
concerned.  It  is  no  far-away  abstraction,  but  ex- 
presses the  movement  of  the  ethical  world. 

One  example  will  help  define  the  discussion. 
Take  the  case  of  a  street  railway  conductor,, 
whose  union  has  ordered  a  strike.  What  deter- 
mines the  law  of  his  conduct  under  the  circum- 
stances? Evidently  the  existing  ethical  institu- 
tions of  which  he  is  a  member,  so  far  as  he  is 

conscious  of  their  needs.     To  determine  what  he 
12 


178 


should  do,  he  does  not  hunt  up  some  law  of  an 
'  ought '  apart  from  what  is ;  if  he  should  hunt  for 
and  should  find  such  a  law  he  would  not  know 
what  to  do  with  it.  Just  because  it  is  apart  from 
his  concrete  circumstances  it  is  no  guide,  no  law 
for  his  conduct  at  all.  He  has  to  act  not  in  view 
of  some  abstract  principle,  but  in  view  of  a  con- 
crete situation.  He  considers  his  present  wage, 
its  relation  to  its  needs  and  abilities;  his  capacity 
and  taste  for  this  and  for  that  work;  the  reasons 
for  the  strike;  the  conditions  of  labor  at  present 
with  reference  to  winning  the  strike,  and  as  to  the 
chance  of  getting  other  work.  He  considers  his 
family,  their  needs  and  developing  powers;  the 
demand  that  they  should  live  decently;  that  his 
children  should  be  fairly  educated  and  get  a  fair 
start  in  the  world;  he  considers  his  relationships 
to  his  fellow  members  in  the  union,  etc.  These 
considerations,  and  such  as  these,  give  the  law  to 
his  decision  in  so  far  as  he  acts  morally  and  not  in- 
stinctively. Where  in  this  law- giving  is  there  any 
separation  from  facts  ?  On  the  contrary,  the  more 
right  the  act  (the  nearer  it  comes  to  its  proper  law), 
the  more  it  will  simply  express  and  reflect  the 
actual  concrete  facts.  The  law,  in  other  words,  of 
action,  is  the  law  of  actual  social  forces  in  their  on- 
ward movement,  in  so  far  as  these  demand  some 
response  in  the  way  of  conduct  from  the  individual. 


179 

We  may  restate  from  this  point  of  view,  what 
we  have  already  learned:  A  moral  law  is  thor- 
oughly individualized.  It  cannot  be  duplicated;  it 
cannot  be  for  one  act  just  what  it  is  for  another. 
The  ethical  world  is  too  rich  in  capacity  and  cir- 
cumstance to  permit  of  monotony;  it  is  too  swift 
in  its  movement  to  allow  of  bare  repetition.  It 
will  not  hold  still;  it  moves  on,  and  moral  law  is 
the  law  of  action  required  from  individuals  by  this 
movement. 

The  consideration  of  specific  institutions,  as  the 
family,  industrial  society,  civil  society,  the  nation, 
etc.,  with  their  respective  rights  and  laws,  belongs 
rather  to  political  philosophy  than  to  the  general  the- 
ory of  ethics. 


PART  III. 


THE  MORAL  LIFE  OF  THE  INDIVIDUAL. 


LVII. 
Division        We  have  now  analyzed    the   funda- 
of  mental  moral  notions — the  good,  duty- 

Subject,  and  freedom;  we  have  considered  their 
objective  realization,  and  seen  that  they  are  out- 
wardly expressed  in  social  relations,  the  more  typi- 
cal and  abiding  of  which  we  call  institutions;  that 
abstract  duties  are  realized  in  the  laws  created  and 
imposed  by  such  institutions,  and  that  abstract 
freedom  is  realized  in  the  rights  possessed  by 
members  in  them.  We  have  now  to  consider  the 
concrete  moral  life  of  an  individual  born  into  this 
existing  ethical  world  and  finding  himself  con- 
fronted with  institutions  in  which  he  must  execute 
his  part,  and  in  which  he  obtains  his  satisfaction 
and  free  activity.  We  have  to  consider  how  these 
institutions  appeal  to  the  individual,  awakening  in 
him  a  distinct  moral  consciousness,  or  the  con- 
sciousness of  active  relations  to  persons,  in  antith- 
esis to  the  theoretical  consciousness  of  relations 
which  exist  in  contemplation;  how  the  individual 


182 

behaves  towards  these  institutions,  realizing  them 
by  assuming  his  proper  position  in  them,  or  at- 
tempting to  thwart  them  by  living  in  isolation 
from  them;  and  how  a  moral  character  is  thus 
called  into  being.  More  shortly,  we  have  to  deal 
(I)  with  the  practical  conscj^yusTiess,  or  the  forma- 
tion and  growth  of  ideals  of  conduct;  (II)  with 
the  moral  struggle,  or  the  process  of  realizing 
ideals^and  (III)  with  moral  character,  or  the 
virtues. 

Chapter  I.— THE  FOKMATION  AND  GROWTH 
OF  IDEALS. 


LVIII. 
Analysis  The   practical  consciousness,  or 

of  the  recognition  of  ends  and  rela- 

Con science,  tions  of  action,  is  what  is  usually 
termed  conscience.  The  analysis  of  conscience 
shows  that  it  involves  three  elements,  which  may  be 
distinguished  in  theory,  although  they  have  no 
separate  existence  in  the  actual  fact  of  conscience 
itself.  These  three  elements  are  (1)  the  knowledge 
of  certain  specific  forms  of  conduct,  (2)  the 
recognition  of  the  authority  or  obligatoriness  of 
the  forms,  and  (3)  the  emotional  factors  which 
cluster  about  this  recognition.  That  is  to  say,  we 
often  speak  ( 1 )  of  conscience  telling  or  informing 


183 


us  of  duties;  we  speak  of  an  enlightened  or  un- 
enlightened conscience ;  of  savage,  or  mediaeval,  or 
modern  conscience.  Here  we  are  evidently  think- 
ing of  the  kind  and  range  of  particular  acts  con- 
sidered right  or  wrong.  But  we  also  speak  (2)  of 
the  authority  and  majesty  of  conscience;  of  the 
commands  of  conscience,  etc.  Here  we  are  think- 
ing of  the  consciousness  of  obligation  in  general. 
The  savage  and  the  civilized  man  may  vary 
greatly  in  their  estimate  of  what  particular  acts 
are  right  or  wrong,  and  yet  agree  in  the  recogni- 
tion that  such  acts  as  are  right  are  absolutely 
obligatory.  Finally  we  speak  of  an  approving  or 
disapproving,  or  remorseful  conscience,  of  a  tender 
or  a  hardened  conscience,  of  the  pangs,  the  pricks 
of  conscience,  etc.  Here  (3)  we  are  evidently  deal- 
ing with  the  responsiveness  of  the  disposition  to 
moral  distinctions,  either  in  particular  acts,  or  in 
the  recognition  of  moral  law  in  general. 
LVIX. 
Conscience  Conscience  in  this  sense  is 

as  the  no   peculiar,   separate  faculty 

Recognition        of  mind.     It  is  simply  intelli- 
of  gence  dealing  with  a  certain 

Special  Acts       subject-matter.     That  is,  con- 
as  science    is   distinguished   not 
Right  or  Wrong,    by  the  kind  of  mental  activity 
at  work,  but  by  the  kind  of   material  the   mind 


184 


wprks  upon.  Intelligence  deals  with  the  nature 
and  relations  of  things,  and  we  call  it  understand- 
ing; intelligence  deals  with  the  relations  of  persons 
and  deeds,  and  it  is  termed  conscience. 

We  may,  with  advantage,  recognize  these  stages 
in  the  development  of  intelligence  as  dealing  with 
moral  relationships : 

1.  The  Customary  or  Conventional  Con- 
science. The  existing  moral  world,  with  the  types 
and  varieties  of  institutions  peculiar  to  it,  is  con- 
stantly impressing  itself  upon  the  immature  mind; 
it  makes  certain  demands  of  moral  agents  and  en- 
forces them  with  all  the  means  in  its  power — pun- 
ishment, reward,  blame,  public -opinion,  and  the 
bestowal  of  social  leadership.  These  demands  and 
expectations  naturally  give  rise  to  certain  convic- 
tions in  the  individual  as  to  what  he  should  or 
should  not  do.  Such  convictions  are  not  the  out- 
come of  independent  reflection,  but  of  the  mould- 
ing influence  of  social  institutions.  Moreover  the 
morality  of  a  time  becomes  consolidated  into 
proverbs,  maxims  and  law- codes.  It  takes  shape 
in  certain  habitual  ways  of  looking  at  and  judging 
matters.  All  these  are  instilled  into  the  growing 
mind  through  language,  literature,  association  and 
legal  custom,  until  they  leave  in  the  mind  a  corre- 
sponding habit  and  attitude  toward  things  to  be 
done.     This  process  may  be  compared  to  the  proc- 


185 


ess  by  which  knowledge  of  the  world  of  things 
is  first  attained.  Certain  of  the  more  permanent 
features  of  this  world,  especially  those  whose  ob-, 
servance  is  important  in  relation  to  continued 
physical  existence  and  well-being,  impress  them- 
selves upon  the  mind.  Consciousness,  with  no 
reflective  activity  of  its  own,  comes  to  mirror 
some  of  the  main  outlines  of  the  world.  The 
more  important  distinctions  are  fixed  in  language, 
and  they  find  their  way  into  the  individual  mind, 
giving  it  unconsciously  a  certain  bent  and  color- 
ing. 

2.  The  Loyal  Conscience.  But  just  as  the 
mind,  which  seems  at  first  to  have  the  facts  and 
features  of  the  world  poured  into  itself  as  a  passive 
vessel,  comes  in  time  through  its  own  experience  to 
appreciate  something  of  their  meaning,  and,  to 
some  extent,  to  verify  them  for  itself;  so  the  mind 
in  its  moral  relations.  Without  forming  any 
critical  theory  of  the  institutions  and  codes  which 
are  forming  character,  without  even  considering 
whether  they  are  what  they  should  be,  the  indi- 
vidual yet  comes  at  least  to  a  practical  recognition 
that  it  is  in  these  institutions  that  he  gets  his  satis- 
factions, and  through  these  codes  that  he  is  pro- 
tected. He  identifies  himself,  his  own  life,  with 
the  social  forms  and  ideals  in  which  he  lives,  and 
repels  any  attack  upon  them  as  he  would  an  attack 


186 


upon  himself.  The  demands  which  the  existing 
institutions  make  upon  him  are  not  felt  as  the 
coercions  of  a  despot,  but  as  expressions  of  his 
own  will,  and  requiring  loyalty  as  such.  The 
conventional  conscience,  if  it  does  not  grow  into 
this,  tends  to  become  slavish,  while  an  intel- 
ligence which  practically  realizes,  although  with- 
out continual  reflection,  the  significance  of  con- 
ventional morality  is  free  in  its  convictions  and 
service. 

3.  The  Independent  or  Reflective  Conscience. 
The  intelligence  may  not  simply  appropriate,  as 
its  own,  conventions  embodied  in  current  institu- 
tions and  codes,  but  may  reflect  upon  them.  It 
may  ask:  What  is  this  institution  of  family, 
property  for?  Does  the  institution  in  its  pres- 
ent form  work  as  it  should  work,  or  is  some  modi- 
fication required?  Does  this  rule  which  is  now 
current  embody  the  true  needs  of  the  situation, 
or  is  it  an  antiquated  expression  of  by-gone  rela- 
tions? What  is  the  true  spirit  of  existing  insti- 
tutions, and  what  sort  of  conduct  does  this  spirit 
demand  ? 

Here,  in  a  word,  we  have  the  same  relation  to 
the  ethical  world,  that  we  have  in  physical  science 
to  the  external  world.  Intelligence  is  not  content, 
on  its  theoretical  side,  with  having  facts  impressed 
upon  it  by  direct  contact  or  through  language;  it 


187 


is  not  content  with  coming  to  feel  for  itself  the 
value  of  the  truths  so  impressed.  It  assumes  an 
independent  attitude,  putting  itself  over  against 
nature  and  cross- questioning  her.  It  proposes  its 
own  ideas,  its  own  theories  and  hypotheses,  and 
manipulates  facts  to  see  if  this  rational  meaning 
can  be  verified.  It  criticises  what  passes  as  truth, 
and  pushes  on  to  more  adequate  statement. 

The  correlative  attempt,  on  the  part  of  intelli- 
gence on  its  practical  side,  may  have  a  larger  or  a 
smaller  scope.  In  its  wider  course  it  aims  to  criti- 
cise and  to  re-form  prevailing  social  ideals  and  in- 
stitutions —  even  those  apparently  most  fixed. 
This  is  the  work  of  the  great  moral  teachers  of  the 
world.  But  in  order  that  conscience  be  critical, 
it  is  not  necessary  that  its  range  be  so  wide.  The 
average  member  of  a  civilized  community  is  nowa- 
days called  upon  to  reflect  upon  his  immediate  re- 
lationships in  life,  to  see  if  they  are  what  they 
should  be;  to  regulate  his  own  conduct  by  rules 
which  he  follows  not  simply  because  they  are  cus- 
tomary, but  the  result  of  his  own  examination  of 
the  situation.  There  is  no  difference  in  kind  be- 
tween the  grander  and  the  minuter  work.  And  it 
is  only  the  constant  exercise  of  reflective  examina- 
tion on  the  smaller  scale  which  makes  possible, 
and  which  gives  efficiency  to,  the  deeper  criticism 
and  transformation. 


188 

LX. 

Reflective  Conscience       This    conception    of 
and  the  conscience  as  critical 

Ethical  World.  and  reflective  is  one  of 

the  chief  fruits  of  the  Socratic  ethics,  fructi- 
fied by  the  new  meaning  given  life  through  the 
Christian  spirit.  It  involves  the  'right  of  free 
conscience' — the  right  of  the  individual  to  know 
the  good,  to  know  the  end  of  action,  for  himself, 
rather  than  to  have  some  good,  however  impos- 
ing and  however  beneficent,  enjoined  from  with- 
out. It  is  this  principle  of  subjective  freedom, 
says  Hegel,  which  marks  the  turning-point  in  the 
distinction  of  modern  from  ancient  times  (Sec.  124, 
Chnindlinien  der  Philosophie  des  Rechts,  Vol.  VIII 
of  Hegel's  Works).* 

But  this  notion  of  conscience  is  misinterpreted 
when  the  content  as  well  as  the  form  of  conscience 
is  thought  to  be  individual.  There  is  no  right  of 
private  judgment,  in  the  sense  that  there  is  not  a 
public  source  and  standard  of  judgment.  What  is 
meant  by  this  right  is  that  the  standard,  the  source, 
is  not  the  opinion  of  some  other  person,  or  group 
of  persons.  It  is  a  common,  objective  standard.  It 
is  that  embodied  in  social  relationships  themselves. 


*I  hardly  need  say  how  largely  I  am  indebted  in  the 
treatment  of  this  topic,  and  indeed,  in  the  whole  matter  of 
the  'ethical  world',  to  Hegel. 


189 


The  conception  of  conscience  as  a  private  pos- 
session, to  be  exercised  by  each  one  in  independ- 
ence of  historical  forms  and  contemporary  ideals,  is 
thoroughly  misleading.  The  saying  "  I  had  to  fol- 
low my  own  notion  of  what  is  right "  has  been 
made  the  excuse  for  all  sorts  of  capricious,  obsti- 
nate and  sentimental  performance.  It  is  of  such 
notions  that  Hegel  further  says:  "The  striving 
for  a  morality  of  one's  own  is  futile,  and  by  its 
very  nature  impossible  of  attainment;  in  respect 
of  morality  the  saying  of  the  wisest  men  of  an- 
tiquity is  the  only  true  one:  To  be  moral  is 
to  live  in  accordance  with  the  moral  tradition 
of  one's  country"  (Hegel,  Works,  Vol.  I,  p.  389). 
And  in  discussing  the  same  question,  Bradley  has 
said  that  the  wish  to  have  a  morality  of  one's  own 
better  than  that  of  the  world  is  to  be  on  the 
threshold  of  morality  (p.  180). 

Yet,  on  the  other  hand,  conscience  should  not 
simply  repeat  the  burden  of  existing  usages  and 
opinions.  No  one  can  claim  that  the  existing 
morality  embodies  the  highest  possible  conception 
of  personal  relations.  A  morality  which  does  not 
recognize  both  the  possibility  and  the  necessity 
of  advance  is  immorality.  Where  then  is  the  way 
out  from  a  capricious  self-conceit,  on  one  hand, 
and  a  dead  conformity  on  the  other?  Reflective 
conscience  must  be  based  on  the  moral  conscious- 


190 


ness  expressed  in  existing  institutions,  manners  and 
beliefs.  Otherwise  it  is  empty  and  arbitrary. 
But  the  existing  moral  status  is  never  wholly  self- 
consistent.  It  realizes  ideals  in  one  relation  which 
it  does  not  in  another ;  it  gives  rights  to  '  aristo- 
crats'  which  it  denies  to  low-born;  to  men,  which 
it  refuses  to  women;  it  exempts  the  rich  from  obli- 
gations which  it  imposes  upon  the  poor.  Its  insti- 
tutions embody  a  common  good  which  turns  out 
to  be  good  only  to  a  privileged  few,  and  thus 
existing  in  self-contradiction.  They  suggest  ends 
which  they  execute  only  feebly  or  intermittently. 
Reflective  intelligence  cross-questions  the  existing 
morality;  and  extracts  from  it  the  ideal  which  it 
pretends  to  embody,  and  thus  is  able  to  criticise 
the  existing  morality  in  the  light  of  its  own  ideal. 
It  points  out  the  inconsistencies,  the  incoherencies, 
the  compromises,  the  failures,  between  the  actual 
practice  and  the  theory  at  the  basis  of  this  prac- 
tice. And  thus  the  new  ideal  proposed  by  the  in- 
dividual is  not  a  product  of  his  private  opinions, 
but  is  the  outcome  of  the  ideal  embodied  in  exist- 
ing customs,  ideas  and  institutions. 

LXI. 
The  Sense  of       There   has  been  much   discus- 
Obligation,     si  on  regarding  the  nature  of  the 
act  of  mind  by  which  obligation  is  recognized.     A 
not  uncommon  view  has   been  that  the  sense   of 


191 


duty  as  such  must  be  the  work  of  a  peculiar  fac- 
ulty of  the  mind.  Admitting  that  the  recognition 
of  this  or  that  particular  thing  as  right  or  wrong,  is 
the  work  of  ordinary  intelligence,  it  is  held  that 
the  additional  recognition  of  the  absolute  obliga- 
toriness of  the  right  cannot  be  the  work  of  this 
intelligence.  For  our  intellect  is  confined  to  judg- 
ing what  is  or  has  been;  the  conception  of  obliga- 
tion, of  something  which  should  be,  wholly  tran- 
scends its  scope.  There  is,  therefQ£e»--SDiae  special 
moral  in  faculty  called"^  which  affixes  to  the  ordin- 
ary judgments  the  stamjp  of  the  categorical  impera- 
tive "You  ought".  ^    ''  ^ 

See  for  example  Maurice  on  "Conscience".  The 
view  is  traceable  historically  to  Kant's  conception  of 
Practical  Reason,  but  as  the  view  is  ordinarily  ad- 
vanced the  function  of  Practical  Reason  in  Kant's 
philosophy  is  overlooked.  The  Practical  Reason  is  no 
special  faculty  of  man's  being;  it  is  his  consciousness 
of  himself  "as "an"  acting  being-;  that  is,  as  a  being 
capable  of  acting  from  ideas.  Kant  never  separates 
the  consciousness  of  duty  from  the  very  nature  of 
will  a^s  the  realization  of  conceptions.  In  the  average 
modern  presentation,  this  intrinsic  connection  of  duty 
^ith  activity  is  absent^..  Conscience  becomes  a  faculty 
whose  function  it  is  to  clap  the  idea  of  duty  upon  the 
existent  conception  of  an  act;  ancj  this  existent  con- 
ception is  regarded  as  morally  indifferent. 

It  is  true  that  Kant's  Practical  Reason  has  a  cer- 
tain separateness  or  isolation.  But  this  is  because  of 
his  general  separation  of  the  rational  from  the  sen- 
suous factor,  and  not  because  of  any  separation  of  the 


192 


consciousness  of  action  from  the  consciousness  of 
duty.  If  Kant  erred  in  his  divorce  of  desire  and 
duty,  then  even  the  relative  apartness  of  the  Practical 
Reason  must  be  given  up.  The  consciousness  of  obli- 
gation is  involved  in  the  recognition  of  any  end  of 
conduct,  and  not  simply  in  the  end  of  abstract  law. 

Such  a  conception  of  conscience,  however,  is 
open  to  serious  objections.  Aside  from  the  fact 
that  large  numbers  of  men  declare  that  no  amount 
of  introspection  reveals  any  such  machinery  within 
themselves,  this  separate  faculty  seems  quite 
superflous.  The  real  distinction  is  not  between  the 
consciousness  of  an  action  with,  and  without,  the 
recognition  of  duty,  but  between  a  consciousness 
which  is  and  one  which  is  not  capable  of  conduct. 
Any  being  who  is  capable  of  putting  before  himself 
ideas  as  motives  of  conduct,  who  is  capable  of 
forming  a  conception  of  something  which  he  would 
realize,  is,  by  that  very  fact,  capable  of  a  sense  of 
obligation.  The  consciousness  of  an  end  to  be 
realized,  the  idea  of  something  to  be  done,  is,  in 
and  of  itself,  the  consciousness  of  duty. 

Let  us  consider  again  the  horse-car  conductor 
(see  Sec.  LVI).  After  he  has  analyzed  the  situation 
which  faces  him  and  decided  that  a  given  course  of 
conduct  is  the  one  which  fits'  the  situation,  does  he 
require  some  additional  faculty  to  inform  him  that 
this  course  is  the  one  which  should  be  followed? 
The  analysis  of  practical  ideas,  that  is,  of  proposed 


193 


ends  of  conduct,  is  from  the  first  an  analysis  of 
what  should  be  done.  Such  being  the  case,  it  is  no 
marvel  that  the  conclusion  of  the  reflection  is:  "  This 
should  (ought  to)  be  done." 

Indeed,  just  as  every  judgment  about  existent 
fact  naturally  takes  the  form  'S  is  P',  so  every 
judgment  regarding  an  activity  which  executes  an 
idea  takes  the  form,  ^  S  ought  (or  ought  not)  to  be 
P'.  It  requires  no  additional  faculty  of  mind,  after 
intelligence  has  been  studying  the  motions  of  the 
moon,  to  insert  itself,  and  affirm  some  objective 
relation  or  truth — as  that  the  moon's  motions  are 
explainable  by  the  law  of  gravitation.  It  is  the 
very  essence  of  theoretical  judgment,  judgment 
regarding  fact,  to  state  truth — what  is.  And  it  is  the 
very  essence  of  practical  judgment,  judgment  re- 
garding deeds,  to  state  that  active  relation  which 
we  call  obligation,  what  ought  to  be. 

The  judgmeDt  as  to  what  a  practical  situation  is, 
is  an  untrue  or  abstract  judgment. 

The  practical  situation  is  itself  an  activity,  the 

needs,  powers,  and  circumstances  which  make  it 

are  moving  on.     At  no  instant  in  time  is  the  scene 

quiescent.    But  the  agent,  in  order  to  determine  his 

course  of  action  in  view  of  this  situation,  has  to  fix 

it;  he  has  to  arrest  its  onward  movement  in  order 

to  tell  what  it  is.   So  his  abstracting  intellect  cuts  a 

cross-section  through  its  on-going,  and  says  *  This 
13 


194 

'  is  the  situation '.  Now  the  judgment  '  This  ought 
to  be  the  situation',  or  '  in  view  of  the  situation,  my 
conduct  ought  to  be  thus  and  so ',  is  simply  restor- 
ing the  movement  which  the  mind  has  temporarily 
put  out  of  sight.  By  means  of  its  cross- section,  intel- 
ligence has  detected  the  principle,  or  law  of  move- 

I  ment,  of  the  situation,  and  it  is  on  the  basis  of  this 
''■  movement  that  conscience  declares  what  ought  to  be. 
Just  as  the  fact  of  moral  law,  or  of  authority,  of 
the  incumbency  of  duty,  needs  for  its  explanation 
no  separation  of  the  '  is '  from  the  '  ought '  ( see 
LVI),  but  only  recognition  of  the  law  of  the  'is' 
which  is,  perforce,  a  law  of  movement,  and  of 
change; — so  the  consciousness  of  law,  'the  sense 
of  obligation'  requires  no  special  mental  faculty 
which  may  declare  what  ought  to  be.  The  intelli- 
gence that  is  capable  of  declaring  truth,  or  what 
is,  is  capable  also  of    making  known  obligation. 

s.  For  obligation  is  only  practical  truth,  the  'is'  of 
doing. 

See  upon  this  point,  as  well  as  upon  the  relation  of 
laws  and  rules  to  action,  my  article  in  Yol.  I,  No.  2,  of 
the  International  Journal  of  Ethics,  entitled  'Moral 
Theoi}^  and  Practice '. 

LXII. 

Conscience  Probably  no  judgment  is  entire- 

as    Emotional  free  from  emotional  coloring  and 

Disposition,     accompaniments.     It  is  doubtful 

whether  the  most  indifferent  judgment  is  not  based 


195 


upon,  and  does  not  appeal  to,  some  interest.  Cer- 
tainly all  the  more  important  judgments  awaken 
some  response  from  the  self,  and  excite  its  interests 
to  their  depths.  Some  of  them  may  be  excited  by  tha 
intrinsic  nature  of  the  subject-matter  under  judg- 
ment, while  others  are  the  results  of  associations 
more  or  less  accidental.  The  former  will  necessar- 
ily be  aroused  in  every  being,  who  has  any  emo- 
tional nature  at  all,  whenever  the  judgment  is 
made,  while  the  latter  will  vary  from  time  to  time, 
and  may  entirely  pass  away.  That  moral  judg- 
ments, judgments  of  what  should  be  (or  should 
have  been)  done,  arouse  emotional  response,  is 
therefore  no  cause  for  surprise.  It  may  help  clear 
up  difficulties  if  we  distinguish  three  kinds  of  such 
emotional  accompaniment. 

1.  There  are,  first,  the  interests  belonging  to 
the  sense  of  obligation  as  such.  We  have  just 
seen  that  this  sense  of  obligation  is  nothing  separ- 
ate from  the  consciousness  of  the  particular  act 
which  is  to  be  performed.  Nevertheless  the  con- 
sciousness of  obligation,  of  an  authority  and  law, 
recurs  with  every  act,  while  the  special  content  of 
the  act  constantly  varies.  Thus  an  idea  of  law,  or  of 
duty  in  general,  is  formed,  distinct  from  any  special 
duty.  Being  formed,  it  arouses  the  special  emo- 
tional excitation  appropriate  to  it.  The  formation 
of  this  general  idea  of  duty,   and  the  growth  of 


196 

feeling  of  duty  as  such,  is  helped  on  through  the 
fact  that  children  ( and  adults  so  far  as  their  moral 
life  is  immature)  need  to  have  their  moral  judg- 
ments constantly  reinforced  by  recurrence  to  the 
thought  of  law.  That  is  to  say,  a  child,  who  is  not 
capable  of  seeing  the  true  moral  bearings  and 
claims  of  an  act,  is  yet  continually  required  to  per- 
form such  an  act  on  the  ground  that  it  is  obli- 
gatory. The  feeling,  therefore,  is  natural  and 
legitimate.  It  must,  however,  go  hand  in  hand 
with  the  feelings  aroused  by  the  special  moral 
relations  under  consideration.  Disconnected  fi*om 
such  union,  it  necessarily  leads  to  slavish  and  arbi- 
trary forms  of  conduct.  A  child,  for  example,  who 
is  constantly  taught  to  perform  acts  simply  because 
he  ought  to  do  so,  without  having  at  the  same  time 
his  intelligence  directed  to  the  nature  of  the  act 
which  is  obligatory  (without,  that  is,  being  led  to 
see  how  or  why  it  is  obligatory),  may  have  a 
strongly  developed  sense  of  obligation.  As  he 
grows  up,  however,  this  sense  of  duty  will  be 
largely  one  of  dread  and  apprehension ;  a  feeling 
of  constraint,  rather  than  of  free  service.  Besides 
this,  it  will  be  largely  a  matter  of  accident  to  what 
act  this  feeling  attaches  itself.  Anything  that 
comes  to  the  mind  with  the  force  of  associations  of 
past  education,  any  ideal  that  forces  itself  persis- 
tently into   consciousness   from   any   source   may^ 


197 

awaken  this  sense  of  obligation,  wholly  irrespective 
of  the  true  nature  of  the  act.  This  is  the  expla- 
nation of  strongly  '  conscientious '  persons,  whose 
morality  is  yet  unintelligent  and  blundering.  It 
is  of  such  persons  that  it  has  been  said  that  a 
thoroughly  good  man  can  do  more  harm  than  a  num- 
ber of  bad  men. 

When,  however,  the  feeling  of  obligation  in 
general  is  developed  along  with  particular  moral 
judgments  (that  is,  along  with  the  habit  of  consid- 
ering the  special  nature  of  acts  performed),  it  is  one 
of  the  strongest  supports  to  morality.  Acts  con- 
stantly need  to  be  performed  which  are  recognized 
as  right  and  as  obligatory,  and  yet  with  reference 
to  which  there  is  no  fixed  habit  of  conduct.  In 
these  cases,  the  more  direct,  or  spontaneous,  stim- 
ulus to  action  is  wanting. 

If,  however,  there  is  a  strong  sense  of  obliga- 
tion in  general,  this  may  attach  itself  to  the  par- 
ticular act  and  thus  afford  the  needed  impetus.  In 
unusual  experiences,  and  in  cases  where  the  ordi- 
nary motive-forces  are  lacking,  such  a  feeling  of 
regard  for  law  may  be  the  only  sure  stay  of 
right  conduct. 

2.  There  is  the  emotional  accompaniment  ap- 
propriate to  the  special  content  of  the  act.  If,  for 
example,  the  required  act  has  to  do  with  some 
person,  there  arise  in  consciousness  the  feelings  of 


198 


interest,  of  love  and  friendship,  or  of  dislike, 
which  belong  to  that  person.  If  it  relate  to  some 
piece  of  work  to  be  done,  the  sweeping  of  a  room, 
the  taking  of  a  journey,  the  painting  of  a  picture, 
there  are  the  interests  natural  to  such  subjects. 
These  feelings  when  aroused  necessarily  form  part 
of  the  emotional  attitude  as  respects  the  act.  It  is 
the  strength  and  normal  welling- up  of  such  spe- 
cific interests  which  afPord  the  best  assurance  of 
healthy  and  progressive  moral  conduct,  as  distinct 
from  mere  sentimental  dwelling  upon  ideals.  Only 
interests  prevent  the  divorce  of  feelings  and  ideas 
from  habits  of  action.  Such  interests  are  the 
union  of  the  subjective  element,  the  self,  and  the 
objective,  the  special  relations  to  be  realized  (Sec. 
XXXIV),  and  thus  necessarily  produce  a  right 
and  healthy  attitude  towards  moral  ends.  It  is 
obvious  that  in  a  normal  moral  life,  the  law  of  obli- 
gation in  general,  and  the  specific  interests  in 
particular  cases,  should  more  and  more  fuse.  The 
interests,  at  their  strongest,  take  the  form  of  love. 
And  thus  there  is  realized  the  ideal  of  an  effec- 
tive character;  the  union  of  law  and  inclination 
in  its  pure  form  —  love  for  the  action  in  and  of 
itself. 

3.  Emotions  due  to  accidental  associations.  It 
is  matter  of  common  notice  that  the  moral  feelings 
are  rarely  wholly  pure;  that  all  sorts  of  sentiments, 


199 

due  to  associations  of  time  and  place  and  person 
not  strictly  belonging  to  the  acts  themselves,  cluster 
about  them.  While  this  is  true,  we  should  not 
forget  the  great  difficulty  there  is  in  marking  off 
any  associations  as  ivholly  external  to  the  nature  of 
the  act.  We  may  say  that  mere  fear  of  punishment 
is  such  a  wholly  external  feeling,  having  no  place 
in  moral  emotion.  Yet  it  may  be  doubted  whether 
there  is  any  feeling  that  may  be  called  mere  fear  of 
punishment.  It  is,  perhaps,  fear  of  punishment  by 
a  parent,  for  whom  one  has  love  and  respect,  and 
thus  the  fear  has  partially  a  genuinely  moral  aspect. 
Some  writers  would  call  the  aesthetic  feelings,  the 
feelings  of  beauty,  of  harmony,  which  gather  about 
moral  ends  adventitious.  Yet  the  fact  that  other 
moralists  have  made  all  moral  feelings  essentially 
aesthetic,  as  due  to  the  perception  of  the  fitness 
and  proportion  of  the  acts,  should  warn  us  from 
regarding  aesthetic  feelings  as  wholly  external. 
About  all  that  can  be  said  is  that  feelings  which 
do  not  spring  from  some  aspect  of  the  content 
of  the  act  itself  should  be  extruded,  with  grow- 
ing matui'ity  of  character,  from  influence  upon 
conduct. 

LXIII. 

Conscientiousness.  Conscientiousness  is  pri- 
marily the  virtue  of  intelligence  in  regard  to 
conduct.     That  is  to  say,  it  is  the  formed  habit  of 


200 


bringing  intelligence  to  bear  upon  the  analysis  of 
moral  relations — the  habit  of  considering  what 
ought  to  be  done.  It  is  based  upon  the  recogni- 
tion of  the  idea  first  distinctly  formulated  by 
Socrates — that  "  an  unexamined  life  is  not  one  that 
should  be  led  by  man".  It  is  the  outgrowth  of 
the  customary  morality  embodied  in  usages,  codes 
and  social  institutions,  but  it  is  an  advance  upon 
custom,  because  it  requires  a  meaning  and  a  rea- 
son. It  is  the  mark  of  a  "  character  which  will  not 
be  satisfied  without  understanding  the  law  that  it 
obeys;  without  knowing  what  the  good  is,  for 
which  the  demand  has  hitherto  been  blindly  at 
work"  (Green,  Op.  cit,  p.  270).  Conscientious- 
ness, then,  is  reflective  intelligence  grown  into 
character.  It  involves  a  greater  and  wider  recog- 
nition of  obligation  in  general,  and  a  larger 
and  more  stable  emotional  response  to  every- 
thing that  presents  itself  as  duty;  as  well  as 
the  habit  of  deliberate  consideration  of  the  moral 
situation  and  of  the  acts  demanded  by  it. 

Conscientiousness  is  an  analysis  of  the  con- 
ditions under  which  conduct  takes  place,  and 
of  the  action  that  will  meet  these  conditions; 
it  is  a  thoroughly  objective  analysis.  What  is 
sometimes  termed  conscientiousness  is  merely  the 
habit  of  analyzing  internal  moods  and  sentiments; 
of   prying   into  '  motives '    in   that   sense   of   mo- 


/ 

201 

tive  which  identifies  it  not  with  the  end  of  ac- 
tion, but  with  some  subjective  state  of  emotion. 
Thus  considered,  conscientiousness  is  morbid.  We 
are  sometimes  warned  against  over-conscientious- 
ness. But  such  conscientiousness  means  simply 
over-regard  of  one's  private  self;  keeping  an  eye 
upon  the  effect  of  conduct  on  one's  internal  state, 
rather  than  upon  conduct  itself.  Over- conscien- 
tiousness is  as  impossible  as  over- intelligence, 
since  it  is  simply  the  application  of  intelligence  to 
conduct.  It  is  as  little  morbid  and  introspective 
as  is  the  analysis  of  any  fact  in  nature.  Another 
notion  which  is  sometimes  thought  to  be  bound  up 
with  that  of  conscience,  also  has  nothing  to  do 
with  it ;  namely,  the  notion  of  a  precision  and  cold- 
ness opposed  to  all  large  spontaneity  and  broad 
sympathy  in  conduct.  The  reflective  man  of  nar- 
row insight  and  cramped  conduct  is  often  called 
the  conscientious  man  and  opposed  to  the  man  of 
generous  impulses.  This  comes  from  identify- 
ing conscience  with  a  ready-made  code  of  rules, 
and  its  action  with  the  application  of  some  such 
fixed  code  to  all  acts  as  they  come  up.  It  is 
evident,  on  the  contrary,  that  such  a  habit  is 
opposed  to  conscience.  Conscience  means  the 
consideration  of  each  case  in  itself;  measuring  it 
not  by  any  outside  code,  but  in  the  existing  moral 
situation. 


202 

On  conscientiousness,  see  Green,  Op.  cit.,  pp.  269- 
271  and  323-327;  and  Alexander,  Op.  cit.,  pp.  156-160. 
These  writers,  however,  seem  to  identify  it  too  much 
with  internal  scrutin3\  Green,  for  example,  expressly 
identifies  conscientiousness  with  a  man's  "  questioning 
about  himself,  whether  he  has  been  as  good  as  he 
should  have  been,  whether  a  better  man  would  not 
have  acted  otherwise  than  he  has  done  "  (p.  323).  He 
again  speaks  of  it  as  "  comparison  of  our  own  practice, 
as  we  know  it  on  the  inner  side  in  relation  to  the  mo- 
tives and  characrer  which  it  expresses,  with  an  ideal 
of  virtue".  The  first  definition  seems  to  be  mislead- 
ing. Questioning  as  to  whether  the  end  adopted  was 
what  it  should  have  been,  i.  e.,  whether  the  analysis  of 
the  situation  was  correctly  performed,  may  be  of 
great  service  in  aiding  future  decisions,  but  question- 
ing regarding  the  purity  of  one's  own  '  motive '  does 
not  seem  of  much  avail.  In  a  man  upon  the  whole 
good,  such  questioning  is  apt  to  be  paralyzing.  The 
energy  that  should  go  to  conduct  goes  to  anxiety 
about  one's  conduct.  It  is  the  view  of  goodness  as 
directed  mainly  towards  one's  own  private  motives, 
which  has  led  such  writers  as  Henry  James,  Sr.,  and 
Mr.  Hinton,  to  conceive  of  '  morality ',  the  struggle 
for  goodness,  to  be  in  essence  bad.  They  conceived 
of  the  struggle  for  '  private  goodness '  as  no  different 
from  the  struggle  for  private  pleasure,  although 
likely,  of  course,  to  lead  to  better  things.  Nor  in  a 
bad  man  is  such  scrutiny  of  '  motive ',  as  apart  from 
objective  end,  of  much  value.  The  bad  man  is  gener- 
ally aware  of  the  badness  of  his  motive  without  much 
close  examination.  The  truth  aimed  at  by  Green  is,  I 
think,  amply  covered  by  recognizing  that  conscientious- 
ness as  a  constant  will  to  know  what  should  be,  and 
to  readjust  conduct  to  meet  the  new  insight,  is  the 
spring  of  the  moral  life. 


203 

LXIV. 
Moral  Commands,        What  is  the  part  played 
Rules  by  specific  commands    and 

and  Systems.  by  general  rules  in  the  ex- 
amination of  conduct  by  conscience  ?  We  should 
note,  in  the  first  place,  that  commands  are  not 
rules,  and  rules  are  not  commands.  A  command, 
to  be  a  command,  must  be  specific  and  individual. 
It  must  refer  to  time,  place  and  circumstance. 
*  Thou  shalt  do  no  murder '  is  not  strictly  speaking 
a  command,  for  it  allows  questioning  as  to  what  is 
murder.  Is  killing  in  war  murder  ?  Is  the  hang- 
ing of  criminals  murder  ?  Is  taking  life  in  self- 
defense  murder?  Regarded  simply  as  a  command, 
this  command  would  be  '  void  for  uncertainty'.  A 
true  command  is  a  specific  injunction  of  one  per- 
son to  another  to  do  or  not  to  do  a  stated  thing  or 
things.  Under  what  conditions  do  commands 
play  a  part  in  moral  conduct?  In  cases  where  the  \ 
intelligence  of  the  agent  is  so  undeveloped  that  he 
cannot  realize  for  himself  the  situation  and  see  the 
act  required,  and  when  a  part  of  the  agent's  envi- 
ronment is  constituted  by  others  who  have  such 
required  knowledge,  there  is  a  moral  element  in 
command  and  in  obedience. 

This  explains  the  moral  responsibility  of  parents 
to  children  and  of  children  to  parents.  The  soldier, 
too,  in  recognizing  a  general's  command,  is  recog- 


204 

nizing  the  situation  as  it  exists  for  him.  Were  there 
simply  superior  force  on  one  side,  and  fear  on  the 
other,  the  relation  would  be  an  immoral  one.  It 
is  implied,  of  course,  in  such  an  instance  as  the 
parents'  command,  that  it  be  so  directed  as  to 
enable  the  child  more  and  more  to  dispense  with 
it — that  is,  that  it  be  of  such  a  character  as  to  give 
the  child  insight  into  the  situation  for  himself. 
Here  is  the  transition  from  a  command  to  a  rule. 
A  rule  does  not  tell  what  to  do  or  what  to  leave 
undone.  The  Golden  Rule,  for  example,  does  not 
tell  me  how  to  act  in  any  specific  case.  A  rule  is 
a  tool  of  analysis.  The  moral  situation,  or  capacity 
in  its  relation  to  environment,  is  often  an  extremely 
complicated  afPair.  How  shall  the  individual  re- 
solve it  ?  How  shall  he  pick  it  to  pieces,  so  as  to 
see  its  real  nature  and  the  act  demanded  by  it  ?  It 
is  evident  that  the  analysis  will  be  the  more  truly 
and  speedily  performed  if  the  agent  has  a  method 
by  which  to  attack  it,  certain  principles  in  the  light 
of  which  he  may  view  it,  instruments  for  cross - 
questioning  it  and  making  it  render  up  its  mean- 
ing. Moral  rules  perform  this  service.  While  the 
Golden  Rule  does  not  of  itself  give  one  jot  of  in- 
formation as  to  what  I  should  do  in  a  given  case, 
it  does,  if  accepted,  immensely  simplify  the  situa- 
tion. Without  it  I  should  perhaps  have  to  act 
blindly;  with  it  the  question  comes  to  this:    AVhat 


205 

should  I,  under  the  given  circumstances,  like  to 
have  done  to  me  ?  This  settled,  the  whole  ques- 
tion of  what  should  be  done  is  settled. 

It  is  obvious,  then,  that  the  value  of  a  moral  \ 
rule  depends  upon  its  potency  in  revealing  the 
inner  spirit  and  reality  of  individual  deeds.  Rules 
in  the  negative  form,  rules  whose  application  is 
limited  in  scope  because  of  an  attempt  to  be  spe- 
cific, are  midway  between  commands  proper  and 
rules.  The  Golden  Rule,  on  the  other  hand,  is 
positive,  and  not  attempting  to  define  any  specific 
act,  covers  in  its  range  all  relations  of  man  to  man. 
It  is  indeed  only  a  concrete  and  forcible  statement 
of  the  ethical  principle  itself,  the  idea  of  a  common 
good,  or  of  a  community  of  persons.  This  is  also 
a  convenient  place  for  considering  the  practical 
value  of  ethical  systems.  We  have  already 
seen  that  no  system  can  attempt  to  tell  what  in 
particular  should  be  done.  The  principle  of  a 
system,  however,  may  be  of  some  aid  in  analyzing 
a  specific  case.  In  this  way,  a  system  may  be  re- 
garded as  a  highly  generalized  rule.  It  attempts 
to  state  some  fundamental  principle  which  lies  at 
the  basis  of  moral  conduct.  So  far  as  it  succeeds 
in  doing  this,  there  is  the  possibility  of  its  prac- 
tical application  in  particular  cases,  although,  of 
course,  the  mediate  rules  must  continue  to  be  the 
working  tools   of    mankind — on  account  of   their 


206 


decided  concrete  character,  and  because  they  have 
themselves  taken  shape  under  the  pressure  of 
practice   rather   than   of   more   theoretical   needs. 

LXV. 
Development  of  Thus  far  we  have  been 
Moral  Ideals.  speaking  of  conscience  mainly 
as  to  its  method  of  working.  We  have  now  to 
speak  more  definitely  of  its  content,  or  of  the  de- 
velopment of  ideals  of  action. 

It  is  of  the  very  nature  of  moral  conduct  to  be 
progressive.  Permanence  of  specific  ideals  means 
moral  death.  We  say  that  truth-telling,  charity, 
loyalty,  temperance,  have  always  been  moral  ends 
and  while  this  is  true,  the  statement  as  ordinarily 
made  is  apt  to  hide  from  us  the  fact  that  the  con- 
tent of  the  various  ideals  (what  is  meant  by  tem- 
perance, etc.)  has  been  constantly  changing,  and 
this  of  necessity.  The  realization  of  moral  ends 
must  bring  about  a  changed  situation,  so  that  the 
repetition  of  the  same  ends  would  no  longer  sat- 
isfy. This  progress  has  two  sides:  the  satisfaction 
of  wants  leads  to  a  larger  view  of  what  satisfac- 
tion really  is,  i.  e.,  to  the  creation  of  new  capacities 
and  wants;  while  adjustment  to  the  environment 
creates  wider  and  more  complex  social  relationships. 
Let  the  act  be  one  of  intelligence.  Some  new 
fact  or  law  is  discovered.  On  one  hand,  this  dis- 
covery may  arouse  a  hitherto  comparatively  dor- 


207 

mant  mind;  it  may  suggest  the  possession  of 
capacities  previously  latent;  it  may  stimulate 
mental  activity  and  create  a  thirst  for  expanding 
knowledge.  This  readjustment  of  intellectual  needs 
and  powers  may  be  comparatively  slight,  or  it  may 
amount,  as  it  has  with  many  a  young  person,  to 
a  revolution.  On  the  other  hand,  the  new  fact 
changes  the  intellectual  outlook,  the  mental  hori- 
zon, and,  by  transforming  somewhat  the  rela- 
tions of  things,  demands  new  conduct.  All  this, 
even  when  the  growth  of  knowledge  concerns  only 
the  physical  world.  But  development  of  insight 
into  social  needs  and  affairs  has  a  larger  and  more 
direct  progressive  influence.  The  social  world 
exists  spiritually,  an  conceived,  and  a  new  concep- 
tion of  it,  new  perception  of  its  scope  and  bearings, 
is,  perforce,  a  change  of  that  world.  And  thus  it 
is  with  the  satisfaction  of  the  human  want  of 
knowledge,  that  patience,  courage,  self-respect,  hu- 
mility, benevolence,  all  change  character.  When, 
for  example,  psychology  has  given  an  increase  of 
knowledge  regarding  men's  motives,  political 
economy  an  increase  of  knowledge  regarding 
men's  wants,  when  historical  knowledge  has 
added  its  testimony  regarding  the  effects  of 
indiscriminate  giving,  charity  must  change  its 
content.  While  once,  the  mere  supplying  of 
food  or  money  by  one  to  another  may  have  been 


208 


right  as  meeting  the  recognized  relations,  charity 
now  comes  to  mean  large  responsibility  in  knowl- 
edge of  antecedents  and  circumstances,  need  of 
organization,  careful  tracing  of  consequences,  and, 
above  all,  effort  to  remove  the  conditions  which 
made  the  want  possible.  The  activity  involved  has 
infinitely  widened. 

Let  the  act  be  in  the  region  of  industrial  life — 
a  new  invention.  The  invention  of  the  telephone 
does  not  simply  satisfy  an  old  want — it  creates 
new.  It  brings  about  the  possibility  of  closer 
social  relations,  extends  the  distribution  of  intelli- 
gence, facilitates  commerce.  It  is  a  common  say- 
ing that  the  luxury  of  one  generation  is  the  neces- 
sity of  the  next ;  that  is  to  say,  what  once  satisfied 
a  somewhat  remote  need  becomes  in  time  the  basis 
upon  which  new  needs  grow  up.  Energy  previ- 
ously pent  up  is  set  free,  new  power  and  ideals  are 
evoked.  Consider  again  a  person  assuming  a  family 
relation.  This  seems,  at  first,  to  consist  mainly  in 
the  satisfaction  of  certain  common  and  obvious 
human  wants.  But  this  satisfaction,  if  moral, 
turns  out  rather  to  be  the  creation  of  new  insight 
into  life,  of  new  relationships,  and  thus  of  new 
energies  and  ideals.  We  may  generalize  these 
instances.  The  secret  of  the  moral  life  is  not  get- 
ting or  having,  it  is  doing  and  thus  being.  The 
getting  and  the  possessing  side  of  life  has  a  moral 


209 

value  only  when  it  is  made  the  stimulus  and  nutri- 
ment of  new  and  wider  acting.  To  solve  the 
equation  between  getting  and  doing  is  the  moral 
problem  of  life.  Let  the  possession  be  acquiesced 
in  for  its  own  sake,  and  not  as  the  way  to  freer 
(and  thus  more  moral)  action,  and  the  selfish  life 
has  set  in  (see  Sec.  LXVII).  It  is  essential  to 
moral  activity  that  it  feed  itself  into  larger  appe- 
tites and  thus  into  larger  life. 

This  must  not  be  taken  to  deny  that  there  is  a 
mechanical  side  even  to  the  moral  life.  A  merchant, 
for  example,  may  do  the  same  thing  over  and  over 
again,  like  going  to  his  business  every  morning  at  the 
same  hour.  This  is  a  moral  act  and  yet  it  does  not 
seem  to  lead  to  a  change  in  moral  wants  or  surround- 
ings. Yet  even  in  such  cases  it  should  be  noted  that 
it  is  only  outwardly  that  the  act  is  the  same.  In  itself, 
that  is,  in  its  relation  to  the  will  of  the  agent,  it  is 
simply  one  element  in  the  whole  of  character;  and  as 
character  opens  up,  the  act  must  change  somewhat 
also.  It  is  performed  somehow  in  a  new  spirit.  If 
this  is  not  to  some  extent  true,  if  such  acts  become 
wholly  mechanical,  the  moral  life  is  hardening  into 
the  rigidity  of  death. 

This  progressive  development  consists  on  one 
side  in  a  richer  and  subtler  individual  activity,  in 
increased  individualization,  in  wider  and  freer 
functions  of  life;  on  the  other  it  consists  in  in- 
crease in  number  of  those  persons  whose  ideal  is  a 
'common  good',  or  who  have  membership  in  the 

same  moral  community;  and,  further,  it  consists  in 
U 


( 


210 


more  complex  relations  between  them.  It  is  both 
intensive  and  extensive. 

History  is  one  record  of  growth  in  the  sense  of 
specific  powers.  Its  track  is  marked  by  the  ap- 
pearance of  more  and  more  internal  and  distin- 
guishing traits;  of  new  divisions  of  labor  and  cor- 
responding freedom  in  functioning.  It  begins  with 
groups  in  which  everything  is  massed,  and  the  good 
is  common  only  in  the  sense  of  being  undifferenti- 
ated for  all.  It  progresses  with  the  evolution  of 
individuality,  of  the  peculiar  gifts  entrusted  to  each, 
and  hence  of  the  specific  service  demanded  of  each. 

The  other  side,  the  enlargement  of  the  com- 
munity of  ends,  has  been  termed  growth  in 
"comprehensiveness".  History  is  again  a  record 
of  the  widening  of  the  social  consciousness — of  the 
range  of  persons  whose  interests  have  to  be  taken 
into  account  in  action.  There  has  been  a  period 
in  which  the  community  was  nothing  more  than  a 
man's  own  immediate  family  group,  this  enlarging 
to  the  clan,  the  city,  the  social  class,  the  nation; 
until  now,  in  theory,  the  community  of  interests 
and  ends  is  humanity  itself. 

This  grovsrth  in  comprehensiveness  is  not  simply 
a  growth  in  the  number  of  persons  having  a  com- 
mon end.  The  quantitative  growth  reacts  upon 
the  nature  of  the  ends  themselves.  For  example, 
when  the  conceived   community  is  small,  bravery 


211 

may  consist  mainly  in  willingness  to  fight  for  the 
recognized  commuoity  against  other  hostile  groups. 
As  these  groups  become  themselves  included  in  the 
moral  community,  courage  must  change  its  form, 
and  become  resoluteness  and  integrity  of  purpose 
in  defending  manhood  and  humanity  as  such. 
That  is  to  say,  as  long  as  the  community  is  based 
largely  upon  physical  facts,  like  oneness  of  blood, 
of  territory,  etc.,  the  ideal  of  courage  will  have  a 
somewhat  external  and  physical  manifestation. 
Let  the  community  be  truly  spiritual,  consisting  in 
recognition  of  unity  of  destiny  and  function  in 
cooperation  toward  an  all-inclusive  life,  and  the 
ideal  of  courage  becomes  more  internal  and  spirit- 
ual, consisting  in  loyalty  to  the  possibilities  of 
humanity,  whenever  and  wherever  found. 

On  this  development  of  moral  ideals,  and  especially 
of  the  growth  in  "comprehensiveness"  as  reacting" 
upon  the  intrinsic  form  which  the  ideal  itself  takes, 
see  Green,  Op.  cit.,  pp.  264-308,  followed  by  Alexander, 
Op.  cit.,  pp.  384-398.  For  the  process  of  change  of  ideals 
in  general,  see  Alexander,  pp.  271-292,  and  369-371. 


Chapter   II.  — THE   MOEAL   STEUGGLE   OR 
THE  REALIZING  OF  IDEALS. 


LXVI. 

Goodness  We  have  already  seen  that  the 

as  a  Struggle,  bare  repetition  of  identically  the 

same  acts  does  not  consist  with  morality.     To  aim 


212 

at  securing  a  satisfaction  precisely  like  the  one 
already  experienced,  is  to  fail  to  recognize  the 
altered  capacity  and  environment,  and  the  altered 
duty.  Moral  satisfaction  prior  to  an  act  is  ideal; 
ideal  not  simply  in  the  sense  of  being  conceived, 
or  present  to  thought,  but  ideal  in  the  sense  that 
it  has  not  been  already  enjoyed.  Some  satisfac- 
tion has  been  enjoyed  in  a  previous  activity,  but 
that  very  satisfaction  has  so  enlarged  and  compli- 
cated the  situation,  that  its  mere  repetition  would 
not  afford  moral  or  active  satisfaction,  but  only 
what  Kant  terms  'pathological'  satisfaction.  Mo- 
rality thus  assumes  the  form  of  a  struggle.  The 
past  satisfaction  speaks  for  itself;  it  has  been  veri- 
fied in  experience,  it  has  conveyed  its  worth  to  our 
very  senses.  We  have  tried  and  tasted  it,  and 
know  that  it  is  good.  If  morality  lay  in  the  repe- 
tition of  similar  satisfactions,  it  would  not  be  a 
struggle.  We  should  know  experimentally  before 
hand  that  the  chosen  end  would  bring  us  satisfac- 
tion, and  should  be  at  rest  in  that  knowledge.  But 
when  morality  lies  in  striving  for  satisfactions 
which  have  not  verified  themselves  to  our  sense,  it 
always  requires  an  effort.  We  have  to  surrender 
the  enjoyed  good,  and  stake  ourselves  upon  that  of 
which  we  cannot  say:  We  know  it  is  good.  To 
surrender  the  actual  experienced  good  for  a  pos- 
sible ideal"good  is  the  struggle. 


213 


We  arrive,  in  what  is  termed  the  opposition  of 
desire  and  duty,  at  the  heart  of  the  moral  struggle. 
Of  course,  taken  strictly,  there  can  be  no  opposition 
here.  The  duty  which  did  not  awaken  any  desire 
would  not  appeal  to  the  mind  even  as  a  duty. 
But  we  may  distinguish  between  a  desire  which  is 
based  on  past  satisfaction  actually  experienced, 
and  desire  based  simply  upon  the  idea  that  the  end 
is  desirable — that  it  ought  to  be  desired.  It  may 
seem  strange  to  speak  of  a  desire  based  simply 
upon  the  recognition  that  an  end  should  be  desired, 
but  the  possibility  of  awakening  such  a  desire  and 
the  degree  of  its  strength  are  the  test  of  a  moral 
character.  How  far  does  this  end  awaken  response 
in  me  because  I  see  that  it  is  the  end  which  is  fit 
and  due?  How  far  does  it  awaken  this  response 
although  it  does  not  fall  into  line  with  past  sat- 
isfactions, or  although  it  actually  thwart  some 
habitual  satisfaction?  Here  is  the  opposition  of 
duty  and  desire.  It  lies  in  the  contrast  of  a  good 
which  has  demonstrated  itself  as  such  in  experi- 
ence, and  a  good  whose  claim  to  be  good  rests  only 
on  the  fact  that  it  is  the  act  which  meets  the  situa- 
tion. It  is  the  contrast  between  a  good  of  posses- 
sion, and  one  of  action. 

From  this  point  of  view  morality  is  a  life  of 
aspiration^  and  of  faith ;  there  is  required  constant 
willingness  to  give  up  past  goods  as  the  good,  and 


214 

to  press  on  to  new  ends;  not  because  past  achieve- 
ments are  bad,  but  because,  being  good,  they  have 
created  a  situation  which  demands  larger  and  more 
intricately  related  achievements.  This  willingness 
is  aspiration  and  it  implies  faith.  Only  the  old 
good  is  of  sight,  has  verified  itself  to  sense.  The 
new  ideal,  the  end  which  meets  the  situation,  is 
felt  as  good  only  in  so  far  as  the  character  has 
formed  the  conviction  that  to  meet  obligation  is 
itself  a  good,  whether  bringing  sensible  satisfac- 
tion or  not.  You  can  prove  to  a  man  that  he 
ought  to  act  so  and  so  (that  is  to  say,  that  such  an 
act  is  the  one  which  fits  the  present  occasion),  but 
you  cannot  prove  to  him  that  the  performance  of 
that  duty  will  be  good.  Only  faith  in  the  moral 
order,  in  the  identity  of  duty  and  the  good,  can 
assert  this.  Every  time  an  agent  takes  as  his  end 
(that  is,  chooses  as  good)  an  activity  which  he  has 
not  already  tried,  he  asserts  his  belief  in  the  good- 
ness of  right  action  as  such.  This  faith  is  not  a 
mere  intellectual  thing,  but  it  is  practical — the 
staking  of  self  upon  activity  as  against  passive 
possession. 

LXVII. 

Moral  Badness  originates   in  the   contrast 

Badness,  which  thus  comes  about  between  hav- 
ing the  repetition  of  former  action,  and  doing — 
pressing  forward  to  the  new  right  action.     Good- 


215 


ness  is  the  choice  of  doing;  the  refusal  to  be  con- 
tent with  past  good  as  exhausting  the  entire  content 
of  goodness.  It  is,  says  Green,  '  in  the  continued 
efPort  to  be  better  that  goodness  consists'.  The 
man,  however  bad  his  past  and  however  limited  his 
range  of  intellectual,  aesthetic  and  social  activity, 
who  is  dissatisfied  with  his  past,  and  whose  dissat- 
isfaction manifests  itself  in  act,  is  accounted  better 
than  the  man  of  a  respectable  past  and  higher 
plane  of  life  who  has  lapsed  into  contented  acqui- 
escence with  past  deeds.  For  past  deeds  are  not 
deeds,  they  are  passive  enjoyments.  The  bad  man, 
on  the  other  hand,  is  not  the  man  who  loves  bad- 
ness in  and  for  itself.  Such  a  man  would  be  a 
mad  man  or  a  devil.  All  conduct,  bad  as  well  as 
good,  is  for  the  sake  of  some  satisfaction,  that  is, 
some  good.  In  the  bad  man,  the  satisfaction  which 
is  aimed  at  is  simply  the  one  congruent  with  exist- 
ing inclinations,  irrespective  of  the  sufficiency  of 
those  inclinations  in  view  of  the  changed  capacity 
and  environment:  it  is  a  good  of  having.  The  bad 
man,  that  is  to  say,  does  not  recognize  any  ideal  or 
active  good ;  any  good  which  has  not  already  com- 
mended itself  to  him  as  such.  This  good  may  be 
good  in  itself',  but,  as  distinguished  from  the  good 
which  requires  action,  that  which  would  fulfill  the 
present  capacity  or  meet  the  present  situation, 
it  is  bad. 


216 

Thus  Alexander  terms  badness  a  survival,  in  part 
at  least,  of  former  goodness.  Hinton  says  (Philosophy 
and  Religion,  p.  146),  "  That  a  thing  is  wrong  does  not 
mean  that  it  ought  never  to  have  been  done  or 
thought,  but  that  it  ought  to  be  left  off".  It  will  be 
noted  that  we  are  not  dealing  with  the  metaphysical 
or  the  religious  problem  of  the  nature  and  origin  of 
evil,  but  simply  with  an  account  of  bad  action  as  it 
appears  in  individual  conduct. 

Badness  has  four  traits,  all  derivable  from  this 
basal  fact.  They  are:  (1)  Lawlessness,  (2)  Sel- 
fishness, (3)  Baseness,  (4)  Demoralization. 

1.  Laivlessness.  When  desire  and  duty,  that 
is,  when  desires  based  on  past  having  and  on  future 
acting,  conflict,  the  bad  man  lets  duty  go.  He 
virtually  denies  that  it  is  a  good  at  all — it  may  be  a 
good  in  the  abstract  but  not  a  good  for  him.  He 
denies  that  obligation  as  such  has  any  value;  that 
any  end  is  to  be  consulted  save  his  own  state  of 
mind.  He  denies  that  there  is  law  for  conduct — at 
least  any  law  beyond  the  inclination  which  he  hap- 
pens to  have  at  the  time  of  action.  Keeping  him- 
self within  that  which  has  verified  itself  to  his 
feeling  in  the  past,  he  abrogates  all  authority  ex- 
cepting that  of  his  own  immediate  feelings. 

2.  Selfishness.  It  has  already  been  shown 
that  the  self  is  not  necessarily  immoral,  and  hence 
that  action  for  self  is  not  necessarily  bad — indeed, 
that  the  true  self  is  social  and  interest  in  it  right 
(see  Sec.  XXXV).     But  when  a  satisfaction  based  on 


217 

past  experience  is  set  against  one  proceeding  from 
an  act  as  meeting  obligation,  there  grows  up  a 
divorce  in  the  self.  The  actual  self,  the  self  recog- 
nizing only  past  and  sensible  satisfaction,  is  set 
over  against  the  self  which  recognizes  the  necessity 
of  expansion  and  a  wider  environment.  Since  the 
former  self  confines  its  action  to  benefits  demon- 
strably accruing  to  itself,  while  the  latter,  in 
meeting  the  demands  of  the  situation,  necessarily 
contributes  to  the  satisfaction  of  others,  one 
takes  the  form  of  a  private  self,  a  self  whose  good 
is  set  over  against  and  exclusive  of  that  of  others, 
while  the  self  recognizing  obligation  becomes  a 
social  self — the  self  which  performs  its  due  func- 
tion in  society.  It  is,  again,  the  contrast  between 
getting  and  doing. 

All  moral  action  is  based  upon  the  presupposi- 
tion of  the  identity  of  good  (Sec.  XL),  but  it  by 
no  means  follows  that  this  identity  of  good  can  be 
demonstrated  to  the  agent  at  the  time  of  action. 
On  the  contrary,  it  is  matter  of  the  commonest 
experience  that  the  sensible  good,  the  demonstrable 
good  (that  is,  the  one  visible  on  the  line  of  past  sat- 
isfaction) may  be  contradictory  to  the  act  which 
would  satisfy  the  interests  of  others.  The  identity 
of  interests  can  be  proved  only  by  acting  upon  it; 
to  the  agent,  prior  to  action,  it  is  a  matter  of  faith. 
Choice  presents  itself  then  in  these  cases  as  a  test: 


218 

Do  you  believe  that  the  Good  is  simply  your  private 
^ood,  or  is  the  true  Good,  is  your  good,  one  which 
includes  the  good  of  others?  The  condemnation 
passed  upon  the  '  selfish '  man  is  that  he  virtually 
declares  that  good  is  essentially  exclusive  and  pri- 
vate. He  shuts  himself  up  within  himself,  within, 
that  is,  his  past  achievements,  and  the  inclinations 
based  upon  them.  The  good  man  goes  out  of  him- 
self in  new  action.  Bad  action  is  thus  essentially 
narrowing,  it  confines  the  self;  good  action  is 
expansive  and  vital,  it  moves  on  to  a  larger  self. 

In  fine,  all  conduct,  good  and  bad,  satisfies  the 
self;  bad  conduct,  however,  aims  at  a  self  which, 
keeping  its  eye  upon  its  private  and  assured  sat- 
isfaction, refuses  to  recognize  the  increasing  func- 
tion with  its  larger  social  range, — tlie  'selfish'  self. 

Light  is  thrown  upon  this  point  by  referring  to 
what  was  said  about  interest  (Sec.  XXXIV).  Inter- 
est is  active  feeling,  feeling  turned  upon  an  object, 
and  going  out  toward  it  so  as  to  identify  it  with  self. 
In  this  active  and  objective  interest  there  is  satis- 
faction, but  the  satisfaction  is  in  the  activity  which 
has  the  object  for  its  content.  This  is  the  satisfac- 
tion of  the  good  self.  In  the  bad  self,  interest  is 
reduced  to  mere  feeling;  for  the  aim  of  life  in  such 
a  self  is  simply  to  have  certain  feelings  as  its  own 
possession;  activity  and  its  object  are  degraded 
into  mere  means  for  getting  these  sensations. 


219 


Activity  has  two  sides;  as  activity,  as  projection 
or  expression  of  one's  powers,  it  satisfies  self;  as 
activity,  also,  it  has  some  end,  some  object,  for  its 
content.  The  activity  as  such,  therefore,  the  ac- 
tivity for  its  own  sake,  must  involve  the  realization 
of  this  object  for  its  own  sake.  But  in  having,  in 
getting,  there  is  no  such  creation  or  maintenance  of 
an  object  for  itself.  Objects  cease  to  be  '  ends  in 
themselves '  when  they  cease  to  be  the  content  of 
action;  and  are  degraded  into  means  of  private 
satisfaction,  that  is,  of  sensation. 

3.  Baseness.  For,  when  we  say  that  bad  action 
takes  account  of  ideals  only  on  the  basis  of  posses- 
sion, we  say,  in  effect,  that  it  takes  account  only  of 
sensible  satisfaction.  As  it  is  in  the  progressive 
movement  of  morality  that  there  arises  the  distinc- 
tion of  the  law-abiding  and  the  lawless  self,  of  the 
social  and  the  selfish  self,  so  in  the  same  aspect 
there  comes  into  existence  the  distinction  of  the 
low,  degraded,  sensual  self,  as  against  the  higher  or 
spiritual  self.  In  themselves,  or  naturally,  there  is 
no  desire  high,  none  low.  But  when  an  inclination 
for  an  end  which  consists  in  possession  comes  into 
conflict  with  one  which  includes  an  active  satisfac- 
tion —  one  not  previously  enjoyed  —  the  contrast 
arises.  It  is  wrong  to  say,  with  Kant,  that  the  bad 
act  is  simply  for  pleasure;  for  the  bad  act,  the 
choice  of  a  past  satisfaction  as  against  the  aspira- 


220 


tion  for  a  wider  good,  may  have  a  large  content — 
it  may  be  the'good  of  one's  family;  it  may  be  scien- 
tific or  aesthetic  culture.  Yet  the  moment  a  man 
begins  to  live  on  the  plane  of  past  satisfaction  as 
such,  he  has  begun  to  live  on  the  plane  of  'sense', 
or  for  pleasure.  The  refusal  to  recognize  the  ideal 
good,  to  acknowledge  activity  as  good,  throws  the 
agent  back  into  a  life  of  dwelling  upon  his  own 
sensible  good,  and  thus  he  falls  more  and  more 
into  a  life  of  dwelling  upon  mere  sensations.  What 
made  the  past  good  a  good  at  all  was  the  spirit,  the 
activity,  in  it,  and  when  it  is  no  longer  an  activity, 
but  a  mere  keeping,  the  life  is  gone  out  of  it.  The 
selfish  life  must  degenerate  into  mere  seDsuality — 
although  when  sensuality  is  'refined'  we  call  it 
sentimentality. 

4.  Demoralization.  Morality  is  activity;  exer- 
cise of  function.  To  cease  this  activity  is  not  to 
remain  on  the  attained  level,  for  that,  when  attained^ 
was  active.  It  is  to  relapse,  to  slip  down  into  bad- 
ness. The  moral  end  is  always  an  activity.  To 
fail  in  this  activity  is,  therefore,  to  involve  character 
in  disintegration.  It  can  be  kept  together  only  by 
constant  organizing  activity;  only  by  acting  upon 
new  wants  and  moving  toward  new  situations.  Let 
this  activity  cease,  and  disorganization  ensues,  as 
surely  as  the  body  decays  when  life  goes,  instead 
of  simply  remaining  inert  as  it  was.     Bad  conduct 


221 


is  thus  unprincipled;  it  has  no  center,  no  move- 
ment. The  good  man  is  '  organic ' ;  he  uses  his 
attainments  to  discover  new  needs,  and  to  assimilate 
new  material.  He  lives  from  within  outwards,  his 
character  is  compact,  coherent;  he  has  integrity. 
The  bad  man,  having  no  controlling  unity,  has  no 
consistent  line  of  action;  his  motives  of  conduct 
contradict  one  another;  he  follows  this  maxim  in 
relation  to  this  person,  that  in  relation  to  another; 
character  is  demoralized. 

The  bad  man  is  unstable  and  double-minded. 
He  is  not  one  person,  but  a  group  of  conflicting 
wills.  So  far  as  he  is  really  bad  he  becomes  as 
many  persons  as  he  has  desires.  His  conduct  can- 
not be  made  universal.  He  always  makes  excep- 
tions in  favor  of  himself.  He  does  not  want  moral 
relations  abolished,  but  relaxed  or  deflected  in  his 
own  case,  while  they  still  hold  for  other  men. 

This  is  the  truth  at  the  basis  of  Kant's  contention 
regarding  goodness  as  conduct  whose  maxim  is  capable 
of  generalization.  See  also  Bradley,  Op.  cit.,  pp.  261- 
271.    And  Alexander,  Op.  cit.,  pp.  309-312. 

LXVIII. 

Goodness  in  its       1.     Two   aspects  of  this  we 

Relation  to       have  already  noted;  one,  that  of 

the  Struggle,    conscientiousness,    or    habitual 

alertness  and  responsiveness  of  intelligence  to  the 

nature  of  obligation,  both  in  general  and  as  to  the 


222 

specific  acts  which  are  obligatory.  The  other  is 
that  goodness,  in  this  relation,  consists  injjrogressive 
adjustment,  involving  aspiration  as  to  future  con- 
duct, and  correlative  humility  as  to  present  achieve- 
ments of  character. 

2.  We  may  state  what  has  already  been  sug- 
gested, that  goodness  as  self-sacrifice  or  self-renun- 
ciation has  also  its  place  here.  The  moral  attitude 
is  one  of  renunciation,  because,  on  account  of  the 
constantly  growing  wants  and  circumstances,  the 
satisfactions  which  belong  to  the  actually  realized 
self  must  be  given  up  for  active  goods.  That  the 
self-sacrifice  takes  largely  the  form  of  the  surren- 
der of  private  interests  to  the  welfare  of  the  whole, 
is  explained  by  what  has  just  been  said  regarding 
selfishness.  Self-sacrifice  is  not  in  any  way  the 
moral  end  or  the  last  word.  Life  is  lost  that  it 
may  be  found.  The  smaller  local  life  of  the  pri- 
vate self  is  given  up  in  order  that  the  richer  and 
fuller  life  of  the  social  or  active  self  may  be  real- 
ized. But  none  the  less  the  self-sacrifice  at  the 
time  that  it  is  made  is  genuine  and  real.  AVhile  it 
is  involved  in  the  very  nature  of  morality  that  moral 
conduct  shall  bring  greater  activity,  larger  life,  the 
motive  of  the  agent  in  self-sacrifice  is  not  to  give 
up  the  lesser  satisfaction  for  the  sake  of  getting  a 
greater.  It  is  only  so  far  as  he  is  already  moral  that 
he  is  convinced  that  the  new  duty  will  bring  satis- 


223 


faction,  and  his  conviction  is  not  one  of  sense,  but 
of  faith.  To  the  agent  at  the  time  of  action,  it 
is  a  real  satisfaction  which  is  given  up  for  one 
that  is  only  ideal,  and  given  up  because  the  ideal 
satisfaction  is  ethical,  active  —  one  congruent  to 
duty,  while  the  actual  satisfaction  is  only  patholog- 
ical; that  is,  congruent  to  the  actualized  self — to 
the  having,  instead  of  the  doing  self. 

3.  Goodness  is  not  remoteness  from  badness. 
In  one  sense,  goodness  is  based  upon  badness;  that 
is,  good  action  is  always  based  upon  action  good 
once,  but  bad  if  persisted  in  under  changing  cir- 
cumstances. The  moral  struggle  thus  presents  itself 
as  the  conflict  between  this  "  bad "  and  the  good 
which  would  duly  meet  the  existing  situation.  This 
good,  of  course,  does  not  involve  the  annihilation 
of  the  previously  attained  good — the  present  bad — 
but  its  subordination;  its  use  in  the  new  function. 
This  is  the  explanation  of  the  apparently  paradox- 
ical statement  that  badness  is  the  material  of  good 
action — a  statement  literally  correct  when  badness 
is  understood  as  it  is  here.  Evil  is  simply  that 
which  goodness  has  to  overcome — has  to  make  an 
element  of  itself. 

Badness,  as  just  spoken  of,  is  only  potential — 
the  end  is  bad  as  contrasted  with  the  better.  Bad- 
ness may  also,  of  course,  be  actual;  the  bad  end 
may  be  chosen,  and  adopted  into  character.     Even 


224 


in  this  sense,  goodness  is  not  the  absence  of  evil, 
or  entire  freedom  from  it.  Badness  even  on  this 
basis  is  the  material  of  goodness;  it  is  to  be 
put  under  foot  and  made  an  element  in  good  action. 
But  how  can  actual  evil  be  made  a  factor  of  right 
conduct?  In  this  way;  the  good  man  learns  from 
his  own  bad  acts ;  he  does  not  continue  to  repeat 
such  acts,  nor  does  he,  while  recognizing  their  bad- 
ness, simply  endeavor  to  do  right  without  regard  to 
the  previous  bad  conduct.  Perceiving  the  effect  of 
his  own  wrong  acts,  the  change  produced  in  his 
own  capacities,  and  his  altered  relations  to  other 
people,  he  acts  so  as  to  meet  the  situation  which 
his  own  bad  act  has  helped  to  create.  Conduct  is 
then  right,  although  made  what  it  is,  to  some 
degree,  by  previous  wrong  conduct. 

In  this  connection,  the  introduction  of  Chris- 
tianity made  one  of  its  largest  ethical  contributions. 
It  showed  how  it  was  possible  for  a  man  to  put  his 
badness  behind  him  and  even  make  it  an  element 
in  goodness.  Teaching  that  the  world  of  social 
relations  was  itself  an  ethical  reality  and  a  good  (a 
redeemed  world),  it  taught  that  the  individual,  by 
identifying  himself  with  the  spirit  of  this  ethical 
world,  might  be  freed  from  slavery  to  his  past 
evil;  that  by  recognizing  and  taking  for  his  own 
the  evil  in  the  world,  instead  of  engaging  in  an 
isolated  struggle  to  become  good  by  himself,  he 


225 


might  make  the  evil  a  factor  in  his  own  right  action. 

Moreover,  by  placing  morality  in  activity  and 
not  in  some  thing,  or  in  conformity  to  an  external 
law,  Christianity  changed  the  nature  of  the 
struggle.  While  the  old  struggle  had  been  an 
effort  to  get  away  from  evil  to  a  good  beyond, 
Christianity  made  the  struggle  itself  a  good.  It, 
then,  was  no  longer  the  effort  to  escape  to  some 
fixed,  unchanging  state;  the  constant  onward  move- 
ment was  itself  the  goal.  Virtue,  as  Hegel  says,  is 
the  battle,  the  struggle,  carried  to  its  full. 

4.  The  conception  of  merit.  This  is,  essentially, 
the  idea  of  social  desert — the  idea  that  an  agent 
deserves  well  of  others  on  account  of  his  act  or  his 
character.  An  action  evokes  two  kinds  of  judg- 
ments :  first,  that  the  act  is  right  or  virtuous,  that  it 
fulfills  duty.  This  judgment  may  be  passed  by  any 
one;  as  well  by  the  agent  as  by  any  one  else.  It  is 
simply  the  recognition  of  the  moral  character  of 
the  act.  But  a  right  act  may  also  awaken  a  convic- 
tion of  desert;  that  the  act  is  one  which  furthers 
the  needs  of  society,  and  thus  is  meritorious. 

This  is  not  a  judgment  which  the  agent  can  pass 

upon  his  own  act.     Virtue  and  duty  are  strictly 

coextensive;  no  act  can  be  so  virtuous,  so  right,  as 

to  go  beyond  meeting  the  demands  of  the  situation. 

Everything  is  a  duty  which  needs  to  be  done  in  a 

given  situation ;  the  doing  of  what  needs  to  be  done 
15 


226 


is  right  or  virtuous.  While  the  agent  may  and 
must  approve  of  right  action  in  himself,  he  cannot 
claim  desert  or  reward  because  of  its  virtuousness ; 
he  simply  does  what  he  should. 

Others,  however,  may  see  that  the  act  has  been 
done  in  the  face  of  great  temptation;  after  a  hard 
struggle;  that  it  denotes  some  unusual  qualifica- 
tion or  executes  some  remarkable  service.  It  is 
not  only  right,  but  obligatory,  for  others  to  take 
due  notice  of  these  qualities,  of  these  deeds. 
Such  notice  is  as  requisite  as  it  is  to  show  grati- 
tude for  generosity,  or  forgiveness  to  a  repentant 
man. 

Two  errors  are  to  be  avoided  here;  both  arising 
from  the  identification  of  merit  with  virtue.  One 
view  holds  that  the  virtue  and  merit  consist  in 
doing  something  over  and  above  duty.  There  is  a 
minimum  of  action  which  is  obligatory ;  to  perform 
this,  since  it  is  obligatory,  is  no  virtue.  Anything 
above  this  is  virtuous.  The  other  view  reverses 
this  and  holds  that  since  no  man  can  do  more  than 
he  ought,  there  is  no  such  thing  as  merit.  Great 
excellence  or  heroism  in  one  man  is  no  more  meri- 
torious than  ordinary  conduct  in  another;  since  the 
one  man  is  naturally  more  gifted  than  the  other. 
But  while  one  act  is  no  more  right  or  virtuous 
than  another,  it  may  be  more  meritorious,  because 
contributing  more  to  moral  welfare  or  progress.    To 


227 


depreciate  the  meritorious  deed  is  a  sign  of  a  carp- 
ing, a  grudging  or  a  mean  spirit. 

The  respective  relations  of  duty,  virtue  and  merit 
have  been  variously  discussed.  Different  views  will  be 
found  in  Sidgwick,  Method  of  Ethics,  Bk.  Ill,  ch.  iv; 
Alexander,  Moral  Order  and  Progress,  pp.  187-195  and 
242-247;  Stephen,  Science  of  Ethics,  pp.  293-303;  Mar- 
tineau.  Types  of  Ethical  Theory,  pp.  78-81;  Laurie, 
Ethica,  pp.  145-148. 


Chaptee    III.  —  realized     MORALITY    OR 
THE  VIRTUES. 


LXIX. 

Goodness  We  have  treated  of  the  forming 
as  Found   in  of  moral  ideals,  and  of  the  attempt 

Character,  to  realize  them  against  the  counter 
attractions  of  sensible  desire.  We  have  now  to 
treat  these  ideas  as  actual  ends  of  conduct  and 
thus  reacting  upon  the  agent.  The  good  character, 
considered  in  relation  to  the  moral  struggle,  is  the 
one  which  chooses  the  right  end,  which  endeavors 
to  be  better.  The  good  character  in  itself  is  that 
made  by  this  choice.  It  is  good  for  the  self  to 
choose  a  due  end  in  an  efPort  caused  by  contrary 
allurements.  But  the  very  fact  of  the  struggle 
witnesses  that  morality  is  not  yet  the  natural  and 
spontaneous  manifestation  of  character.     A  wholly 


228 

good  man  would  feel  such  satisfaction  in  the  con- 
templation of  the  ideal  good  that  contrary  desires 
would  not  affect  him.  He  would  take  pleasure 
only  in  the  right.  Every  accomplished  moral  deed 
tends  to  bring  this  about.  Moral  realization  brings 
satisfaction.  The  satisfaction  becomes  one  with 
the  right  act.  Duty  and  desire  grow  into  harmony. 
Interest  and  virtue  tend  toward  unity. 

This  is  the  truth  aimed  at,  but  not  attained,  by 
the  hedonistic  school.  In  complete  moral  action, 
happiness  and  rightness  know  no  divorce.  And 
this  is  true,  even  though  the  act,  in  some  of  its 
aspects,  involves  pain.  The  act,  so  far  as  its  qual- 
ity of  rightness  is  concerned,  calls  forth  unalloyed 
satisfaction,  however  bound  up  with  pain  to  self 
and  to  others  in  some  respects.  The  error  of 
hedonism  is  not  in  insisting  that  right  action  is 
pleasurable,  but  in  its  failure  to  supply  content  to 
the  idea  of  happiness,  in  its  failure  to  define  what 
happiness  is.  In  the  failure  to  show  those  active 
relations  of  man  to  nature  and  to  man  involved  in 
human  satisfaction,  it  reduces  happiness  to  the 
abstraction  of  agreeable  sensation. 

A  virtue  then,  in  the  full  sense,  that  is  as  the 
expression  of  virtuous  character,  and  not  of  the 
struggle  of  character  to  be  virtuous  against  the 
allurements  of  passive  goods,  is  an  interest.  The 
system  of  virtues  includes  the  various  forms  which 


229 


interest  assumes.  Truthfulness,  for  example,  is 
interest  in  the  media  of  human  exchange;  gener- 
osity is  interest  in  sharing  any  form  of  superior 
endowment  with  others  less  rich  by  nature  or 
training,  etc.  It  is  distinguished  from  natural 
generosity,  which  may  be  mere  impulse,  by  its 
being  an  interest  in  the  activity  or  social  relation 
itself,  instead  of  in  some  accidental  accompaniment 
of  the  relation. 

Another  way  of  getting  at  the  nature  of  the 
virtues  is  to  consider  them  as  forms  of  freedom. 
Positive  freedom  is  the  good,  it  is  realized  activity, 
the  full  and  unhindered  performance  of  function. 
A  virtue  is  any  one  aspect  which  the  free  perform- 
ance of  function  may  take.  Meekness  is  one  form 
of  the  adjustment  of  capacity  to  surroundings; 
honesty  another;  indignation  another;  scientific 
excellence  another,  and  so  on.  In  each  of  these 
virtues,  the  agent  realizes  his  freedom:  Freedom 
from  subjection  to  caprice  and  blind  appetite, 
freedom  in  the  full  play  of  activity. 

LXX. 
Two  Kinds  of  We  may  recognize  two  types  of 
Virtues.  virtuous  action.  These  are: 
1.  The  Special  Virtues.  These  arise  from 
special  capacities  or  special  opportunities.  The 
Greek  sense  of  virtue  was  almost  that  of  "  excel- 
lence ",  some  special  fitness  or  power  of  an  agent. 


230 

There  is  the  virtue  of  a  painter,  of  a  scientific 
investigator,  of  a  philanthropist,  of  a  comedian,  of 
a  statesman,  and  so  on.  The  special  act  may  be 
manifested  in  view  of  some  special  occasion,  some 
special  demand  of  the  environment  —  charity, 
thankfulness,  patriotism,  chastity,  etc.  Goodness, 
as  the  realization  of  the  moral  end,  is  a  system, 
and  the  special  virtues  are  the  particular  members 
of  the  system. 

2.  Cardinal  Virtues.  Besides  these  special 
members  of  a  system,  however,  the  whole  system 
itself  may  present  various  aspects.  That  is  to  say, 
even  in  a  special  act  the  whole  spirit  of  the  man 
may  be  called  out,  and  this  expression  of  the  whole 
character  is  a  cardinal  virtue.  While  the  special 
virtues  differ  in  content,  as  humility  from  bravery, 
earnestness  from  compassion,  the  cardinal  virtues 
have  the  same  content,  showing  only  different  sides 
of  it.  Conscientiousness,  for  example,  is  a  cardi- 
nal virtue.  It  does  not  have  to  do  with  an  act 
belonging  to  some  particular  capacity,  or  evoked 
by  some  special  circumstance,  but  with  the  spirit  of 
the  whole  self  as  manifested  in  the  will  to  recog- 
nize duty — both  its  obligatoriness  in  general  and 
the  concrete  forms  which  it  takes.  Truthfulness 
as  a  special  virtue  would  be  the  desire  to  make 
word  correspond  to  fact  in  some  instance  of  speech. 
As  a  cardinal  virtue,  it  is  the  constant  will  to  clarify 


231 


and  render  true  to  their  ideal  all  human  relations — 
those  of  man  to  man,  and  man  to  nature. 

LXXl. 
The  Cardinal       The  cardinal  virtues  are 

Virtues.        marked  by 

1.  Wholeness.  This  or  that  virtue,  not  calling 
the  whole  character  into  play,  but  only  some  special 
power,  is  partial.  But  a  cardinal  virtue  is  not  a 
virtue,  but  the  spirit  in  which  all  acts  are  per- 
formed. It  lies  in  the  attitude  which  the  agent 
takes  towards  duty;  his  obedience  to  recognized 
forms,  his  readiness  to  respond  to  new  duties,  his 
enthusiasm  in  moving  forward  to  new  relations. 
It  is  a  common  remark  that  moral  codes  change 
from  '  Do  not '  to  '  Do ',  and  from  this  to  '  Be '.  A 
Mosaic  code  may  attempt  to  regulate  the  specific 
acts  of  life.  Christianity  says,  'Be  ye  perfect'. 
The  effort  to  exhaust  the  various  special  right  acts 
is  futile.  They  are  not  the  same  for  any  two  men, 
and  they  change  constantly  with  the  same  man. 
The  very  words  which  denote  virtues  come  less  and 
less  to  mean  specific  acts,  and  more  the  spirit  in 
which  conduct  occurs.  Purity,  for  example,  does  not 
mean  freedom  from  certain  limited  outward  forms  of 
defilement;  but  comes  to  signify  rightness  of  na- 
tures as  a  whole,  their  freedom  from  all  self-seeking 
or  exclusive  desire  for  private  pleasure,  etc.  Thus 
purity  of  heart  comes  to  mean  perfect  goodness. 


232 


2.  Disinterestedness.  Any  act,  to  be  virtuous, 
must  of  course  be  disinterested,  but  we  may  now 
connect  this  disinterestedness  with  the  integral 
nature  of  moral  action  just  spoken  of.  Immoral 
action  never  takes  account  of  the  whole  nature  of 
an  end;  it  deflects  the  end  to  some  ulterior  purpose; 
it  bends  it  to  the  private  satisfaction  of  the  agent; 
it  takes  a  part  of  it  by  making  exceptions  in  favor 
of  self.  Bad  action  is  never  '  objective '.  It  is  '  ab- 
stract ' ;  it  takes  into  account  only  such  portion  of 
the  act  as  satisfies  some  existing  need  of  the 
private  self.  The  immoral  man  shows  his  par- 
tial character  again  by  being  full  of  casuistries, 
devices  by  which  he  can  get  the  act  removed 
from  its  natural  placing  and  considered  in  some 
other  light: — this  act,  for  example,  would  be  dis- 
honest, of  course,  if  done  under  certain  circum- 
stances, but  since  I  have  certain  praiseworthy  feel- 
ings, certain  remote  intentions,  it  may  now  be  con- 
sidered otherwise.  It  is  a  large  part  of  the  badness 
of  '  good '  people  that  instead  of  taking  the  whole 
act  just  as  it  is,  they  endeavor  to  make  the  natural 
feelings  in  their  own  mind — feelings  of  charity,  or 
benevolence — do  substitute  duty  for  the  end  aimed 
at;  they  excuse  wrong  acts  on  the  ground  that 
their  '  intentions '  were  good,  meaning  by  intentions 
the  prevailing  mood  of  their  mind.  It  is  in  this 
sense  that  '  hell  is  paved  with  good  intentions. ' 


233 

Now  it  is  against  this  deflection,  perversion 
and  mutilating  of  the  act  that  disinterestedness 
takes  its  stand.  Disinterested  does  not  mean  with- 
out interest,  but  without  interest  in  anything 
except  the  act  itself.  The  interest  is  not  in  the 
wonderful  moods  or  sentiments  with  which  we  do 
the  act;  it  is  not  in  some  ulterior  end  to  be  gained 
by  it,  or  in  some  private  advantage  which  it  will 
bring,  but  in  the  act  itself — in  the  real  and  con- 
crete relations  involved.  There  is  a  vague  French 
saying  that  *  morality  is  the  nature  of  things.' 
If  this  phrase  has  a  meaning  it  is  that  moral  con- 
duct is  not  a  manifestation  of  private  feelings  nor  a 
search  for  some  unattainable  ideal,  but  observance 
and  reproduction  of  actual  relations.  And  this  is 
the  mark  of  a  disinterested  character. 


CONCLUSION, 


LXXIl. 

The  Practical  End  Virtues,  then,  are  cardinal, 
of  Morality.  and  character  is  integral, 
just  in  the  degree  in  which  every  want  is  a  want 
of  the  whole  man.  So  far  as  this  occurs,  the  bur- 
den of  the  moral  struggle  is  transformed  into 
freedom  of  movement.  There  is  no  longer  effort 
to  bring  the  particular  desire  into  conformity  with 


234 

a  law,  or  a  universal,  outside  itself.  The  fitting 
in  of  each  special  desire,  as  it  arises,  to  the  organ- 
ism of  character  takes  place  without  friction,  as  a 
natural  re- adjustment.  There  is  not  constraint, 
but  growth.  On  the  other  side,  the  attained  char- 
acter does  not  tend  to  petrify  into  a  fixed  posses- 
sion which  resists  the  response  to  needs  that  grow 
out  of  the  enlarged  environment.  It  is  plastic  to 
new  wants  and  demands;  it  does  not  require  to  be 
wrenched  and  wracked  into  agreement  with  the 
required  act,  but  moves  into  it,  of  itself.  The 
law  is  not  an  external  ideal,  but  the  principle  of 
the  movement.  There  is  the  identity  of  freedom 
and  law  in  the  good. 

This  union  of  inclination  and  duty  in  act  is  the 
practical  end.  All  the  world's  great  reformers 
have  set  as  their  goal  this  ideal,  which  may  be 
termed  either  the  freeing  of  wants,  or  the  human- 
izing of  the  moral  law.  It  will  help  summarize 
our  whole  discussion,  if  we  see  how  the  theories  of 
hedonism  and  of  Kant  have  endeavored  to  express 
this  same  goal.  Hedonism,  indeed,  has  this 
identity  for  its  fundamental  principle.  It  holds 
strongly  to  the  idea  of  moral  law  immanent  in 
human  wants  themselves.  But  its  error  lies  in 
taking  this  identity  of  desire  and  the  good,  as  a 
direct  or  immediate  unity,  while,  in  reality,  it  exists 
only  in  and  through  activity;  it  is  a  unity  which 


235 

/  can  be  attained  only  as  the  result  of  a  process.  It 
I  mistakes  an  ideal  which  is  realized  only  in  action 
•     for  bare  fact  which  exists  of  itself. 

Hedonism,  as  represented  by  Spencer,  recog- 
nizes, it  is  true,  that  the  unity  of  desire  and  duty  is 
not  an  immediate  or  natural  one;  but  only  to  fall 
into  the  error  of  holding  that  the  separation  is  due 
to  some  external  causes,  and  that  when  these  are 
removed  we  shall  have  a  fixed  millenium.  As 
against  this  doctrine,  we  must  recognize  that  the 
difference  between  want  and  duty  is  always  re- 
moved so  far  as  conduct  is  moral;  that  it  is  not  an 
ideal  in  the  sense  of  something  to  be  attained  at 
some  remote  period,  but  an  ideal  in  the  sense  of 
being  the  very  meaning  of  moral  activity  whenever 
and  wherever  it  occurs.  The  realizing  of  this  ideal 
is  not  something  to  be  sometime  reached  once  for 
all,  but  progress  is  itself  the  ideal.  Wants  are 
ever  growing  larger,  and  thus  freedom  ever  comes 
to  have  a  wider  scope  (Sec.  LXV). 

Kant  recognizes  that  the  identity  of  duty  and 
inclination  is  not  a  natui'al  fact,  but  is  the  ideal. 
However,  he  understands  by  ideal  something 
which  ought  to  be,  but  is  not.  Morality  is  ever  a 
struggle  to  get  desire  into  unity  with  law,  but  a 
struggle  doomed,  by  its  very  conditions,  not  to 
succeed.  The  law  is  the  straight  line  of  duty, 
which  the  asymptotic  curve  of  desire  may  approxi- 


236 


mate,  but  never  touch.  An  earthly  taint  of  pleas- 
ure-seeking always  clings  to  our  wants,  and  makes 
of  morality  a  striving  which  defeats  itself. 

The  theory  that  morality  lies  in  the  realization 
of  individuality  recognizes  that  there  is  no  direct, 
or  natural,  identity  of  desire  and  law,  but  also 
recognizes  that  their  identification  is  not  an  impos- 
sible task.  The  problem  is  solved  in  the  exercise 
of  function,  where  the  desires,  however,  are  not 
unclothed,  but  clothed  upon.  Flowing  in  the 
channel  of  response  to  the  demands  of  the  moral 
environment,  they  unite,  at  once,  social  service  and 
individual  fi'eedom. 

LXXIIl. 
The  Means  This    practical  end    of    the 

of  unification  of    desire  and  duty, 

Moral izat ion.  in  the  play  of  moral  interests,  is 
reached,  therefore,  so  far  as  the  desires  are  social- 
ized. A  want  is  socialized  when  it  is  not  a  want 
for  its  own  isolated  and  fixed  satisfaction,  but  re- 
flects the  needs  of  the  environment.  This  implies, 
of  course,  that  it  is  bound  by  countless  ties  to  the 
whole  body  of  desires  and  capacities.  The  eye,  in 
seeing  for  itself,  sees  for  the  whole  body,  because  it 
is  not  isolated  but,  through  its  connections,  an  organ 
of  a  system.  In  this  same  way,  the  satisfaction  of 
a  want  for  food,  or  for  commercial  activity,  may 
necessitate  a  satisfaction  of  the  whole  social  system. 


237 

But  how  shall  this  socialization  of  wants  be 
secured?  It  is  in  answering  this  question  that  we 
are  brought  again  to  a  point  already  discussed  at 
length:  the  moral  bearings  of  intelligence.  It  is 
intelligence  that  is  the  sole  sure  means  of  taking  a 
want  out  of  the  isolation  of  merely  impulsive 
action.  It  is  the  passing  of  the  desire  through  the 
alembic  of  ideas  that,  in  rationalizing  and  spiritual- 
izing it,  makes  it  an  expression  of  the  want  of  the 
whole  man,  and  thus  of  social  needs. 

To  know  one's  self  was  declared  by  Socrates, 
who  first  brought  to  conscious  birth  the  spirit  of 
the  moral  life,  to  be  the  very  core  of  moral  en- 
deavor. This  knowledge  of  self  has  taken,  indeed, 
a  more  circuitous  and  a  more  painful  path,  than 
Socrates  anticipated.  Man  has  had,  during  two 
thousand  years  of  science,  to  go  around  through 
nature  to  find  himself,  and  as  yet  he  has  not  wholly 
come  back  to  himself — he  oftentimes  seems  still 
lost  in  the  wilderness  of  an  outer  world.  But 
when  man  does  get  back  to  himself  it  will  be  as 
a  victor  laden  with  the  spoils  of  subdued  nature. 
Having  secured,  in  theory  and  invention,  his  unity 
with  nature,  his  knowledge  of  himself  will  rest  on 
a  wide  and  certain  basis. 

This  is  the  final  justification  of  the  moral  value 
of  science  and  art.  It  is  because  through  them 
wants  are  inter- connected,  unified  and  socialized,. 


238  ^ 

that  they  are,  when  all  is  said  and  done,  the  pre- 
eminent moral  means.  And  if  we  do  not  readily 
recognize  them  in  this  garb,  it  is  because  we  have 
made  of  them  such  fixed  things,  that  is,  such 
abstractions,  by  placing  them  outside  the  movement 
of  human  life. 


INDEX. 


Absolute— and  relative  Ethics,  according  to  Spencer 

72. 
Accountability— See  responsibility. 
Activity— human,  the  subject-matter  of  ethics  1  ff. 
—the  object  of  desire  21  ff. 
— the  standard  of  pleasure  45,  50. 
—equals  exercise  of  function  101. 
—opposed  to  mere  possession  209;  215;  218;  220. 
— two  sides  of  219. 
—see  freedom. 
^Esthetic  feelings— may  be  moral  199. 

—see  art. 
Agent— moral,  one  capable  of  acting  from  ideas  3. 

— see  person. 
Alexander,  S. quoted:    on  idea  of  sum  of  pleas- 
ures 46. 
—referred  to:    9;   46;   77;   111;   134;   158; 
165;  202;  216;  221;  227. 
Altruism — how  identified  with  egoism  59. 

—reconciled,  by  Spencer,  with  egoism  70  ff. 
—conflicts,  at  present,  with  egoism  76. 
— older  moralists  termed  benevolence  195. 
— not  necessarily  moral  107. 
— not  disguised  selfishness  109. 
— may  equal  charity  125. 
Amusements — moral  nature  of  133. 
Approbation — nature  of  161. 


240 

Aristotle— quoted:    on  pleasure  18;  on  pleasure  and 
and  character  29;  on  the  mean  136. 
—referred  to:  31. 
Art  (and  Science)— nature  of  interest  in  111. 

—distinction  of  fine  and  useful  112. 
—interest  in,  why  moral  113  ff. 
—interest  in,  really  social  118  ff. 
—life  an,  120. 
—essentially  dynamic  126. 
Asceticism— means  formalism  94. 

—element  of  truth  in  95. 
—results  when  interest  is  excluded  106. 
Aspiration— involved  in  morality  213;  222. 
Autonomy — Kant's  conception  of  justified  149. 
Badness — of  environment  a  factor  in  right  action 
176;  224. 
— its  source  and  factors  214. 
— its  relation  to  goodness  223. 
—potential  and  actual  223. 
— of  good  people  232. 
Bain,  A. — quoted:    that  pleasure  is  a  self-evident  cri- 
terion 16;  his  definition  of  utilitarianism  53; 
on  obligation  140;  141. 
—referred  to:    17;  66;  227. 
Barratt — quoted :    that  all  pleasure  is  individual  14. 
Baseness— why  badness  becomes  219. 
Benevolence— see  altruism. 

Bentham,  J.— quoted:  pleasure  both  criterion  and 
motive  15;  self-evident  criterion  16;  all 
motives  good  34  ff. ;  hedonistic  calculus 
36  ff ;  identity  of  individual  and  general 
pleasure  57  ff.;  influence  of  law  59. 
—referred  to:    53. 


241 


Birks-— referred  to:    66. 
Blackie,  J.  S.— referred  to:    66. 

Bradley,  F.  H.— quoted:    on  pleasure  and  desire  21; 
scientific    interest    not    necessarily- 
social  122;  on  merely  individual  con- 
science 189. 
—referred  to:    25;  26;   42;  48;  54;  91; 
124;  134;  165;  221. 
Browning",  R. — referred  to:    111. 
Butler— Bishop,  quoted:    on  conscience  167. 

—referred  to:    110. 
Caird,  E.— quoted:    on  collision  of  moral  ends  88. 

—referred  to:     21;  82;    87;    91;  92;   93;   95; 
109;  111;  149;  165. 
Calder wood— referred  to:    158;  166. 
Capacity — its  relation  to  environment  97. 
— increased  by  moral  action  206. 
Carlyle,T.— referred  to:    128. 
Casuistry— inevitable,  if  moral   end    is    not  wholly 

social  119. 
Character — reciprocal  with  conduct  9. 

—the  source  of  motive,  desire  and  moral 

pleasure  26  If. 
— separated  from  conduct  by  hedonists  32  ff. 
—and  virtues  227  fC. 

—see    capacity,     conduct,     interests     and 
motive. 
Charity — idea  of,  involves  social  inequality  125. 
Christianity— ethical  influence  of  224. 

— has  no  specitic  ethical  code  231. 
Coit,  S.— referred  to :    28 ;  66. 

Commands— moral  value  of:    203. 
16 


242 

Common  Good— an  ethical  ideal  51. 

—not  furnished  by  hedonism  60. 

—not  furnished  by  Kant  91. 

— why  necessarily  involved  in  morality 

117;  217;  222. 
— demands    reciprocal    satisfaction    of 

individual  and  society  127. 
—its    existence   postulated    by    moral 

conduct  130. 
—results  from  exercise  of  function  168. 
— constituted  by  activity  169  ff. 
— realized  in  institutions  173. 
—development  of  210. 
— see  institutions  and  society. 
Comprehensiveness — growth  of,  in  moral  end  210  ff. 
Conduct — defined  3. 

— relation  to  consequences  7. 
— relation  to  character  9. 
—an  individual  system  133. 
— a  social  system  136. 
—how  related  to  character  163. 
—see  activity,  consequences,  character  and 
motive. 
Conflict— of  moral  ends  88  ff. 

—morality  has  an  aspect  of  151;  227. 
Conscience— Bain's  idea  of  141. 

—equals  consciousness  of  action  181. 
—elements  in  182. 
— not  a  special  faculty  183. 
—kinds  of  183  ff. 
—not  merely  individual  188. 
Conscientiousness— nature  of  199. 

—does  not  equal  introspection  200. 


243 

Conscientiousness— nor  application  of  code  201. 

— a  cardinal  virtue  232. 
Consequences— moral  value  of  7  ff.;  84;  114;  160. 

—excluded  from  morality  by  Kantian- 
ism 13;  29. 
— identified  with  moral  value  by  hedon- 
ism 33. 
— responsibility  for  160. 
Criterion— hedonistic  is  pleasure  15. 

— criticism  of  hedonistic  31  ff. 
—two  ends  to  be  met  by  every  32. 
—of  higher  and  lower  pleasures  49  ff. 
— when  pleasure  may  be  a  50. 
—Mill's  really  social  63. 
—Spencer's  really  social  73. 
—Kant's  nominally  formal  79  ff. 
—the  real  132  fe. 
—its  elasticity  135. 
Darwin,  C— referred  to:    78. 
Demoralization— involved  in  badness  220. 
Desire— pleasure  as  end  of  16;  18  ff. 
—defined  19. 
—how  spiritualized  23. 
—not  purely  pleasurable  27. 
—an  expression  of  character  28. 
— excluded  from  moral  motive  by  Kant  79. 
— all  or  no  involved  in  morality  94. 
— relation  to  pleasure  83. 
— particular,  an  abstraction  96. 
— how  distinguished  from  interest  103. 
—opposed  to  reason  by  Kant  147. 
— when  opposed  to  moral  action  148;  155;  213;. 
216. 


244 


Desire— how  socialized,  237. 
Dewey,  J.— referred  to:    25;  78;  194. 
Disinterestedness— equals  full  interest  107. 

—an  aspect  of  cardinal  virtue  232. 
Disposition— Bentham  on  35. 
Dualism— the  Kantian  148  fl. 
Duty — see  obligation. 
Egoism— see  altruism. 

End — moral:    see  common  good;  function;  motive. 
Environment— defined  by  relation  to  capacity  99  ff. 
— meaning  of  adjustment  to  115  ff. 
— moral,  exists  in  institutions  171. 
—badness  of,  an  element  in  right  action 

176;  190. 
—enlarged  by  moral  action  207. 
Empiricism — Spencer's  reconciliation  with  intuition- 
alism 69  ff. 
Ethics— defined  1. 
—divided  3. 

—its  object  according  to  Spencer  68. 
—see  theory. 
Ethical  World— discussed  167  ff. 

—nature  illustrated  168. 
—relation  to  moral  law  174. 
— see  Institutions. 
Evolution,  Theory  of— combined  with  hedonism  67  ff. 
— not  really  hedonistic  71  ff. 
—its  real  standard  objective  72. 
Faith— a  factor  in  moral  progress  123;  127  ff. 
—in  humanity,  meaning  of  129. 
—why  demanded  in  moral  action  217;  222. 
Feelings- natural  and  moral  5  ff.;  25  ff.;  87. 

—sympathetic  relied  upon  by  utilitarians  57. 


245 


Feelings— necessary  in  moral  activity  85. 
— active,  equal  interests  102. 
— moral,  defined  by  end  108;  see  also  motive, 
—value  of  195  ff. 

— moral,  not  too  narrowly  limited  199. 
Freedom— is  object  of  desire  24. 

—equals  exercise  of  function  138. 
— various  aspects  of  158. 
—of  choice  defined  159. 
— of  indifference  discussed  161  fE. 
— actualized  in  rights  172;  174. 
— positive,  realized  in  virtues  229. 
Function — union   of  capacity   and    circumstance  In 
act  103. 
— freedom  found  in  exercise  of  164  ff. 
GiZYCKi— referred  to:    66. 

God — an  external,  cannot  be  the  source  of   obliga- 
tion 149. 
Goethe— referred  to:    128. 

Golden  Rule— identified  by  Mill    with  principle   of 
utilitarianism  59 
— gives  no  directions  as  to  conduct  204. 
— is  a  concrete  statement  of  ethical  post- 
ulate 205. 
Green,  T.  H. — quoted :    on  desire  and  pleasure  21 ;  on 
sum  of  pleasures  43;  on  nature  of  hap- 
piness 45;    on    conscientiousness    200, 
202;  on  goodness  215. 
referred  to:  9;  25;  42;  54;  110;  158;  165. 
Grote,  J.— referred  to:    66;  158. 
Guy au— referred  to:    66;  143. 
Hedonism— defined  14  ff. 

—its  paradox  25. 


246 


Hedonism— confuses  feeling  and  idea  26;  43  fl. 
— summarized  30. 
— all  motives  good  33. 
— its  calculus  36. 
— fails  to  provide  laws  39  ff. 
— its  contrast  with  Kantianism  82  ff. 
— its  treatment  of  obligation  140  ff. 
— is   correct   in   holding   Tightness   to   be 

pleasurable  228. 
— truth  and  falsity  in  234. 
Hegel— quoted:      on    reflective    conscience    188;    on 

merely  individual  conscience  189. 
Hinton,  J.— quoted:    on  altruism  109;  on  badness  216. 

—referred  to:    202. 
Hodgson,  S.  H.— referred  to:    14. 
Idealism— when  feeble  128. 
Ideals— moral,  progressive,  206. 
Imperative,  Categorical— of  Kant  147. 

— of  conscience  191. 
Impulse— and  pleasure  17. 
—and  desire  22. 
— nature  of  action  from  159. 
— see  desire. 
Individuality— defined  97. 

—not  identical  with  inner  side  alone  98. 
— evils  of  defining  from  this  standpoint 

110. 
— made  by  function  131. 
—realized  is  autonomy  150. 
— realized  is  freedom  164. 
—growth  in  210. 
—see  freedom  and  rights. 
Institutions— nature  of  169  ff. 


247 

Institutions — sovereignty,  rights  and  law  inhere  in 
171  fl. 
—influence  of,  upon  conscience  184;  189. 
—movement  of,  the  source  of  duties,  194. 
—see  common  good  and  society. 
Interests— are  functions  on  personal  side  102  ff. 
—classified  and  discussed  104  ff. 
— social,  involve  science  and  art  123  ff. 
—realized  in  institutions  170. 
— their  relation  to  conscience  198. 
— pure,  are  virtue  228. 
—the  active  element  of  218. 
—the  freeing  of,  the  moral  goal  233. 
James,  sr.,  H.— referred  to:  202. 
James,  Wm.— quoted:    on    pleasure    and   desire  20. 

referred  to:  77. 
Kant— agrees  with  hedonism  as  to  end  of  desire  79. 
—his  end  an  abstraction  84. 
—his  practical  ideal  that  of  Mill  and  Spencer  93. 
—value  of  his  theory  93. 
— his  theory  of  obligation  147. 
— his  conception  of  autonomy  149. 
— his  idea  of  duty  156. 
— his  conception  of  practical  reason  191. 
—quoted:  on  pleasure 47;  on  pleasure  as  common 
good  52;  on  priority  of  duty  to  good  78;  on 
good  will  79;  his  formula  for  right  action  80; 
illustrations  of  moral  law  80  ff. 
—referred  to:  14;  78;  212;  221;  235. 
Kantianism — compared  with  hedonism  82  ff. 

—its  practical  breakdown  90. 
Knowledge— moral  effect  of  advance  in  207. 
—socializes  wants  237. 


248 


Knowledge—see  art. 

Laurie,  S.  S.— quoted:  on  happiness  66. 

—referred  to:  227. 
Law— utilitarian  use  of  58;  61  ff. 
—Kant's  moral,  formal  78. 
— relation  to  desire  94. 
—realized  in  institutions  172;  174. 

of  the  '  is ',  not  merelj'  of  the  'ought'  175. 
—idea  of,  in  general  195. 
—see  obligation. 
Lawlessness— involved  in  morality  216. 
Leckey— referred  to  66. 
Limitation— the  basis  of  moral  strength  128. 
Lincoln,  A.— anecdote  regarding  28. 
Lotze— referred  to:  16;  166. 
Love— the  union  of  duty  and  desire  154. 
Martineau,  J.— quoted:  on  the  difficulty  of  the  hed- 
onistic calculus, 
—referred  to:  42;  78;  158;  166;  227. 
Maurice,  F.  D.— referred  to:  191. 
Merit— means  social  desert  225. 
Mill,  J.  S.— criticizes  Kant  91. 

— his   equivoke    of   pleasure   and   pleasant 
thing  20. 
--  —his  fallacy  56. 

—introduces  quality  of  pleasure  into  hedon- 
ism 42;  46. 
—quoted:  pleasure  self-evident  criterion  16; 
end  of  desire  17;  on  rules  of  morality  39  ff; 
on  moral  tribunal  48;  on  utilitarian  stand- 
ard 53;  on  importance  of  law  and  education 
59;  on  social  feeling  63  ff. 
—referred  to:  25;  30;  49. 


249 


Morality— sphere  of  as  broad  as  conduct  2;  154. 

— not  dependent  upon  an  individual's  wish. 

167  fe. 
—realized  in  institutions  170. 
—struggle  for  private,  bad  202. 
—in  the  nature  of  things  233. 
Motive— defined  5. 

—two  elements  in  10. 
— determined  by  character  28. 
— never  bad  according  to  hedonism  33. 
—formal  and  legislative  according  to  Kant  80. 
—not  a  subjective  mood  232. 
Norms— in  philosophy  1. 
Obligation— in  conflict  with  pleasure  76  ff. 
—how  related  to  function  138. 
— theories  regarding  139. 
— distinct  from  coercion  144. 
—enforced,  not  created  by  power  145. 
—Kantian  idea  of  criticized  148. 
— does  not  relate  simply  to  what  ought  to 

be,  but  is  not  151;  174  if^ 
— relation  to  conscience  183. 
— how  made  known  190  ff. 
— practical  value  of  sense  of  196. 
— must  be  individualized  197;  201. 
— when  opposed  to  desire  213;  216. 
— the  union  with  desire  the  moral  ideal  234. 
—see  desire,  law  and  universal. 
Pater — referred  to:  66. 
Pathological— all  inclination,  according  to  Kant  86. 

— opposed  to  active  212. 
Paulsen— referred  to:  67;  111. 
Person— is  one  capable  of  conduct  97. 


250 


Pleasure— an  element  in  activity  24. 

— not  the  moving  spring  to  action  26. 

— sum  of,  dependent  on  objective  conditions 
44  ff . 

—quality  of,  similarly  dependent  47  ft. 

— may  symbolize  action  51. 

— general,  a  vague  idea  62. 

— fixed  by  social  relations  65;  77. 

— not  a  sufficient  guide  at  present  75. 

— dependent  on  self-realization  83. 

— all  right  action  involves  228. 

— see  desire  and  hedonism. 
Postulate— moral,  defined  129  if. 

— equals  Golden  Rule  205. 
Problem— moral  3. 
Progress— necessary  in  moral  action  135  ff. 

—moral,  nature  of  209. 
Prudence— not  outside  moral  sphere  105. 
Reason — opposed  to  desire  by  Kant  147. 

— Kant's  conception  too  immediate  150. 
— practical,  idea  of  191. 
Reformation— possibility  of  162  ff. 
Relativity — of  morals,  means  what  136. 
Responsibility— nature  of  160  If. 

—of  parents  and  children  2  03. 
Reverence— Kant  regards  as  sole  moral  feeling  86. 
Rights — exist  by  common  will  172. 
Rousseau— his  influence  upon  Kant  148. 
Roy ce,  J.— referred  to:  61;  111. 
Rule — moral,  not  a  command  204. 

— a  tool  of  analysis  204. 
Satisfaction— moral,  creates  new  wants  208. 
—good  and  bad  217. 


251 


Science— nature  of  interest  in  111. 

—the  preeminent  moral  means  237. 
— see  art. 
Schurman,  J.  G.— referred  to:    78. 
Self— interest  in  105  ff. 

— involves  sympathy  109. 
—dualism  in  self,  how  arises  216. 
—knowledge  of  237. 
Selfishness — involved  in  immorality  216. 
Self-sacrifice —its  moral  nature  222. 
Sentimentality — immoral  113. 

—escape  from,  only  through    knowl- 
edge 120. 
—results  from  abstract  idea  of   duty 

157. 
—refined,  equals  sensuality  220. 
Shakespeare — quoted:    on  common  good  131. 
Sidgwick,  H.— quoted:    on  the  hedonistic  assumption 
43;  on  utilitarian  standard  53;  on  in- 
tuitional utilitarianism  54. 
—referred  to:    14;  16;  18;  66;  111;  227. 
— its  moral  influence  146;  157. 
— its  relation  to  obligation  152. 
— constituted  by  moral  relationships  175. 
— development  of,  changes  moral  ideals  207. 
— see  common  good,  institutions. 
Socrates— author   of    idea   of    reflective    conscience 
188. 
—initiator  of  modern  ethical  spirit  237. 
Sorley— referred  to:    78;  111. 
Sovereignty— exists  in  common  will  and  good  171. 
—ultimate  possessed  in  humanity  173. 
Spencer,  H.— believes  in  fixed  social  ideal  73  £f.;  235. 


252 


Spencer,  H. — quoted:     on    pleasure   as   a    necessary 
effect  68;  not  immediate  object  of  desire 
69;  egoism  and  altruism  70  fl.;  on  ideal 
man  73;  equilibrium  of  functions  74;  on 
obligation  142;  143. 
-referred  to:     16;  67;  72;  73;   74;  75;  76; 
111;  125;  235. 
Stephen,  L.— quoted:    on  feeling  as  universal  motive 
27;  on  sympathy  109  ff. 
referred  to:     16;  25;  67;  68;  78;  111;  165; 
227. 
Struggle— when  morality  is  a  212. 

—changed  by  Christianity  into  movement  225. 
— see  conflict. 
Sully,  J.~ref erred  to:    17. 
Theory— ethical  and  conduct  1. 
— ethical,  sub-divided  13. 
— ethical,  not  cauistry  89. 
—value  of  186. 
Universal— a,  lacking  in  hedonism  37. 
— Kant's  emphasis  of  80. 
—Kant's,  formal  80;  85;  90. 
— Kant's,  leads  to  conflict  87. 
—true,  equals  organization,  88;  90;  96. 
—bad  action  cannot  be  221. 
—means  a  method,  not  a  thing  136. 
—found  in  movement  of  character  234. 
—see  law. 
Utilitarianism— is  universalistic  hedonism  13;  53. 
—defined  by  Mill,  Sidgwick,  Bain,  53» 
—criticized  54  ff . 
—assumes  social  order  63  ff. 
—combined  with  evolution  67. 


253 

Virtue— change  in  nature  of  211. 

—correlative  to  duty  225. 

—distinguished  from  merit  226. 

—is  an  interest  of  character  228 

—two  types  of  229. 

—cardinal  230. 
Wants— see  desires. 
Wilson  (and  Fowler)— referred  to:    67. 
Will— Kant's  good  will  79. 


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THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


M-'M 


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